Memoir of the Satanist
by Plastic Emotion
Summary: Why did you choose to become a Satanist, Murdoc?" There were so many answers he could have given her. So many reasons he could have told. But he chose the hardest one. He chose the truth.
1. Part 1

**Memoir of the Satanist**

Summery: _A simple misunderstanding leads Noodle to explode at the famed bassist, and soon wonder of his well-hidden past. While hunting him down for an apology, she finds herself asking him something no one had ever asked him before, "Why did you choose to become a Satanist, Murdoc?" _

Part 1

The hallway was a range of shadows, mind-playing tricks on her eyes with every step she took. They would expand...morph...follow her down until her glowing emerald eyes would shift for a moment, unable to catch their playful banter. One had to be careful in such a residence as hers. Anything could catch you off guard. Anything could kill you...nothing was of the impossible. Her thin fingers ran along the dirty wall on her right, the sky a dead blue on her left, the grey swirls of nothingness forcing the bright moon to play hide and seek with the world below. This only delayed her every two minutes or so. A blocked cloud meant a drape in darkness, a clear moon meant maneuver. Obscurity called for alertness. It was the only way to live in Kong Studios.

Her bare feet padded along the old, swollen wood, occasional creeks whining their way down the hall and into various rooms, forcing her to freeze her movement to sense any from her own. The lump in her throat seemed to get in the way as she swallowed, not bothered at all by the way she traveled, or where she had to travel to, but whom she was traveling in hopes to see. The daylight couldn't have bothered her more than earlier that day.

_That_ had been a disaster...

She had been innocently eating some oatmeal that she had cooked up early that morning, making some extra for 2D since he had surprised her with his presence, staring out of the kitchen window with an aura of confusion on his face. Gently, he had tapped his finger twice on the pane, eyes focused on the dark sky above, until the third flick, a wash of thick water marbles showering onto the world below. A pleased and more relaxed grin fixed upon his face, he slowly turned, nearly jumping out of his skin at the sight of the eighteen year old spying on him from the doorway. "N-Noodle!" he gasped, holding a skeletal hand to his chest, "Wot are yeh doin' there all quiet like? Nearly sent me to the other side!" A small giggle escaped the young woman, pushing herself from her hidden leaned position, her bangs brushing past her glowing green orbs, "Do you have some powers you have not told us about, 2D?"

"...Powers?"

Digging her hands into her hoodie's center pockets, the youngest band member nodded her head towards the window, expression as innocent as eight years previous, "I believe you provoked the rain to fall." His neck turned just a bit to join her interest, spectating the view of the horrendous outcome outdoors, sheets so thick one could only see thin white lines and black in between. Their landfill had disappeared in the event, the wood of their porch barely visible. "You fink I did tha'?" he chucked in a whisper, almost wishing it were true, "I may be a bit special," the singer winked, poking at his own noggin while pulling out a wooden rickety seat for himself, "But I ain't that special, love." Crossing his arms, he sat down, bending his left leg in to rest the foot atop of his right knee. Shortly sighing, the Asian axe princess softly walked to the cabinets, opening them in search of a decent pot that wasn't corroded or filled with mold among other indecent growths.

Finding one, she ran it under some hot water, just in case, and began her hunt for some edible food in the top shelves. Who knew when was the last time Murdoc (or mainly Russel) had gone food shopping? They, as a band, had been eating out almost every day for the past two weeks. Yes, they could afford it, but it wasn't exactly the healthiest of things to do. Not to mention Noodle was missing the taste of the home cooked love ingredient that everywhere else lacked. Five minute prepared lo mien just wasn't the same outside of Kong. Ah, a box of oatmeal, and not out of date. That would do just fine. Now she just needed some milk. Eying the fridge behind the singer, the teen placed the box on the counter and closed the cabinet door, listening to the pelting outside. She almost felt bad for the undead that had gotten caught in that mess. Almost.

No. She wouldn't lie to herself. Not at all.

Pushing the singer in to get past him, she shook her head, "You are absolutely fine just the way you are. Do not try to downplay how much you mean to anyone, D-kun." Opening the tab of the milk, she closed an eye as she dared her nose to take a whiff, pleasantly surprised that it was nearly new. Closing the fridge door, she carefully went passed the singer's chair, pulling him out to where he had been before. The blue haired man giggled as if it were a ride, a shadow of a smile on his lips. "You are special to your fans, you are special to the band, and you are special to me. I think that is worth enough in itself." she finished, pecking between his locks before moving onto breakfast.

Leaning far forward, the pill addict closed his eyes in bliss, elbow propping his cheek up from the table. "By the way," she added, forcing one of his bruised sockets to lazily lift open, "It is nearly seven and you are not the morning type...yet, you were in the kitchen before me." Offering a slight sniff, he glanced down at himself with shrugged shoulders, "I'm in me pjs, love. Yo' in full attire."

"Does not give a reason to why you are awake so early."

"A disturbance in the force, there wos." the pretty boy chuckled with a sly grin as the guitarist flushed a bit. Around five thirty or so she had awoken, gotten dressed, and gone up to the roof where she normally did her morning meditation unless the weather prevented her from doing so. Sitting on the edge of the roof had never provided a threat before, however this morning proved to be a change in the winds, teasing her mind into some allusion that her body was swaying forward when she wasn't, forcing her to wrench her eyes open and scoot back a bit with a speedy heart, completely ruining the peace her mind had generated, and 2D's as well. Offering him a shy, sheepish smile, the girl opened the oatmeal packet and dumped its contents into the pot, pouring some milk into the mixture, "Sorry..."

"No 'arm done. Couldn't get back to sleep after that, though. Tossed an' turned till..."

Glancing back at the singer, Noodle opened up another packet and added it to the blend. He was reverting back to his unhealthy skinny mode again. A small bowl of breakfast in his stomach would at least comfort her. "Until what?" she asked, stirring the mush while adjusting the heat. Clearing his throat, 2D crossed his arms in front of him, burying his chin within them. A light blush sprinkled his cheeks, knowing he couldn't very well lie about the topic, because lord knew he was only good at that kind of thing when Murdoc was around. Maybe it was some form of toxin that waved off the man in vibes, but whatever the cause, the thin singer didn't have it in him now. "Wull...I know yeh ain't a kid anymore, Noods, but...'ell that scare was pretty big...I mean I woke up gaspin'...it just kinda bothered me an' I knew it wouldn't be right if I just _ignored_ it so...I just sorta...yeh know...checked up on yeh. I found yeh on the roof, but I don't think yeh saw or 'eard me, so I came down 'ere an' relaxed for a bit. Now I'm gunna get the 'ole, 2D yo' just old an' paranoid, I'm old enough teh take care o' meself, give me some space an' all that." he ended with a higher pitched voice than normal, grinning at the guitarist's perplexed expression.

Pouring the porridge into two bowls that she had retrieved during the singer's speech, she washed out the tiny residue and left the pot in the sink, gathering up some spoons, "When have I ever called you old or paranoid?" she questioned, glancing up at him from a drawer. Shrugging, the singer squeezed his left shoulder, eying the window, "I dunno...I'm overdue for it, though. Yo' the bloomin' flower now." he said quietly with a gentle smile, rubbing his tickling nose.

"Sounds like someone is jealous." the teen giggled, finding one spoon among the many, many knives they owned.

"I am not!" he quirked, a bit surprised at his reaction, cheeks turning pink. Ruffling through his hair, he glanced up, watching the young woman determined to find that other spoon. It seemed only yesterday when she could barely get her thoughts out in English and wrestling Murdoc whenever he yelled at her had become the new spectator sport, and now here she was, his darling little angel love, all grown up. Drawing a circle in the table with his finger, the singer leaned his cheek on his right arm, it bent to continually comb through his hair, "Just...just sayin' yo' the one in yo' prime now." Scrunching her nose, the teen glanced over her shoulder at the slump on the table, too awkward for any more words. Hand grasping at what she had been searching for, the violet haired woman stood up and closed the drawer shut, setting her bowl on the table. Turning to get the second, she ran her finger against the many types of spices and flavors Russel kept on the bottom shelf of the top cabinet and snagged one. "You, too, are in your prime, 2D. Why are you making yourself sound like a grandfather? You have more youth in you than I do." the teen nodded, shaking a bit of the brown powder onto the steaming oatmeal.

Shaking his head vigorously, the singer disagreed, "_Yo'_ the one in yo' prime. I'm just in survivor mode." Furrowing her brows, Noodle placed the bowl before him, patting his back, "If you do not eat a little more often, you truly will be." The bluehead rubbed his belly, wincing a bit. He didn't like to eat when he wasn't hungry...which was nearly all the time. It wasn't healthy, he knew that, and downing pills without sustenance did take its toll, but he couldn't help it. Like many things that weren't important to him, it would occasionally slip his mind. "Ehhhh..." he mumbled, slowly glancing up at the cook about to send him on a guilt trip. Her lip was pouted and about to tremble, her lovely emeralds large and shimmering. "I added cinnamon..." she sniffed, pushing the spoon towards his hand. If that didn't get him eating it, nothing would.

Giving it a once over, 2D rubbed his eyes and leisurely took the spoon, "Awright, awright...guess I better get used teh this...s'an old person's delicacy," he joked lightheartedly, however, Noodle took this as another complaint. Giving him a cutting glare, the martial arts expert wrung her arms around his neck just as he stuffed a large spoonful into his mouth, his neck nearly snapping as she hugged him close, "You are _not_ old!" she snapped, not realizing her caring motives were causing her friend to choke. "Noo'le!" he coughed, whacking himself in the chest. Immediately she released him, the stacked glob shooting down to the pit of his stomach, his lungs panting for air. Again the teen wrapped her arms around his neck, however, much more gently this time, nuzzling her cheek in his hair, "Sorry...but, please, no more old jokes. They make me feel uncomfortable. I do not want to think of you ever as a creepy, perverted, old man." Leaning his head against hers, he calmly closed his eyes, accepting the affection. That was, until a demonic shriek ruptured from a floor below.

"Speaking o' which..." the blue haired keyboardist mumbled, poking at his breakfast as Noodle released him, curious of their leader's cry. Angry or hurt, neither would be good news, and his lash on them even less so. Rubbing her wrist awkwardly, the violet haired teen tilted her head towards the doorway without a step towards it, a thin finger placed on 2D's lips for any statement she knew was going to come. Batting her lashes twice, she arched a curious brow, sliding her hand to the backrest of the singer's chair. Strange...when Murdoc yelled...and by yelled it was understood to be bellowed...he normally sniffed out the closest pumping arteries to thrash his tantrum on. Rare that he would remain so soundless.

Craning his neck over a fist, the singer arched a brow in weary boredom, curious but not as perplexed as Noodle seemed to be. "Looks like we won't be gettin' a visit from Cap'n Hellfire after all..." he muttered, receiving an unexpected force fed spoonful of cinnamon dusted glob. Noodle, giving up on the wonder, dusted off her hands and turned towards the counter, glancing over her shoulder. "No more talk out of you until that bowl is empty," she ordered, tapping her chin as she kept her eye on the milk. A nice glass of milk would go nicely with some oatmeal...but there was always the possibility of her personal favorite, tea.

Swallowing roughly, the singer mentally whimpered, less than motivated to scarf down the whole bowl. Releasing a sigh, he plucked the utensil from between his lips, sneaking a peek at the strangely frozen teen. Returning his glance to his food, he sighed again, swirling it over and over, eyes popping when he noticed a pair of interested orbs spying in on him from the doorway. Gap toothed grin breaking through, the piano man sniffed gently, ridding himself of his toothy veneer with a quick glimpse towards the teen and waved hurriedly at the treasured companion of the guitarist, its curiosity getting the best of him. He offered the singer a friendly, eager grin, quickly squeezing his furry little body under the chair across from 2D, poking his smiling face between the man's knees. Giving the favored creature a pleased rub on the head, the music man's fingers carefully hooked on the rim of the bowl, lifting it soundlessly above and over the awaiting primate.

"I think I shall simply make tea with milk."

The singer's shoulders lurched as the unexpected comment flew out, nearly thinking he had been caught. Relaxing out a sigh, he lowered the bowl towards the monkey's hands.

"Oh, and, 2D? Don't you dare."

Shifting his gaze between the girl and his hands, he squinted in utter confusion of how the girl could possibly know. His lips motioned over and over...possibly trying to spit out, "But...", however, without a word he returned the bowl to the table, lifted the monkey onto his lap, and hunched over in misery, allowing him to climb on his shoulders in order to pick through the man's hair. "Good morning, Mike." the Asian smiled, washing out the pot stuck with oatmeal residue. Waving at the eighteen year old's back with a light shriek, he made himself comfortable on the singer's shoulders, sliding his legs on either side of the thin man's neck, leaning over with crossed arms to rest his chin within. Shaking the water out, Noodle set the pot back down on the burner, pouring some milk in to heat up. She needed to get a start on her breakfast. It would get cold if she ignored it too long, and with 2D around, he'd most likely offer her food to their furry mate currently using him as a forward recliner.

Slowly, she pulled out her chair and sat (after giving the monkey his morning ruffle, of course), dragging her bowl before her. If she didn't get something in her stomach soon, the smell of breakfast would soon make her nauseas, therefore ruining her ability to enjoy it...or eat it, for that matter. The first spoonful was warm and the top layer had already cooled off compared to the rest underneath it. A quick spin of the spoon soon cured that. Eying 2D while she continued to consume her bowlful, the teen noted that, although it was taking him _forever_ to do it, he was actually trying to complete the task of operation breakfast in stomach. It was rather entertaining to watch the poor man scrunch his nose, or squint, or even taste test each and every time before finally deciding it was either safe or edible to finally enter his mouth. Running his fingers along his throat, the bluehead arched a brow at the peering girl, seemingly realizing that the pressure on his neck and back was Mike as he lifted his head, "The milk is about teh spill over..."

Snapping into panic, the teen jetted her chair out, nearly leaping to the stove in order to save the milk. She gently blew on it as the rising liquid settled from the temperature change, twisting the knob to turn off the burner. "Good catch," she muttered, the singer unsure if the remark was aimed at him or not. Tilting his head with some difficulty, the keyboardist jabbed his thumb up towards the creature residing, "Oy, wot's Mikey gunna eat if not some oatmeal? I don't mind sharin'. Honest!" he tried innocently with a child-like smile, holding the pose until the teen turned around, a mug filled with steaming milk in each hand. Placing the mugs on the table, the young woman turned to the cabinets, searching behind the chewed box of pasta for her hidden tea bags, "He will have some fruit and probably help himself to the termites that have made the walls on level two their home."

Patting the monkey's hanging leg, the singer sighed, leaning over his half eaten bowl with a sideways prop, "Poor little guy...wot if 'em things 'old tha' zombie disease...? Wot if 'e gets sick from pesticides? An' 'ow about if we don't got fruit?" Pouting with an annoyed grunt, the teen grabbed a handful from the topmost shelf and swung the door shut, turning on her heel to march towards the table. Swallowing hard, and not from forced food, the singer mustered a sweet smile, brows pressed worriedly, however even Mike understood the change in his owner, deserting his human beanbag for the safer spot under the chair. The fuzzy primate grabbed onto his own tail, lifting his brows as he peeked up with a, "You're on your own, pal," look to his typically relaxed features. "Is it really so bad to eat just one meal? Must I spoon-feed you?" the karate junior growled, tossing the mini bags onto the table as she crossed her arms.

Pulling on a slightly brighter facade, the pretty boy perked up a bit, batting his eyes, a shy blush dotting his cheeks, "...Would yeh?" Eyes squinting into piercing slits, the singer sunk his neck in, stirring what was left of his food with a nervous twitch. Noodle could be awfully threatening when she wanted to. What was the big deal? He had gotten this far with his usual eating habits...

A shuffling at the doorway pulled the teen's attention away from the moping singer, much to his relief; however, upon glancing up, he knew the feeling wouldn't last long. There, blocking the entire exit was the grimy beast of a bass player himself, a dark mask pulling his features into an ugly mug (although the singer couldn't say much for the man when he was in a good mood, either). He stood in an unusual combination of cinnabar plaid pajama pants, bottoms tucked into his combat boots, his golden cross medallion proudly resting upon his bare chest, favored raven floating more than flying above him as if scoping out the intention for trouble. Ignoring any form of communication with the devil's bird, the bony male scrunched his nose as he leaned forward. The bassist was hiding something behind his back...much too big to be hidden from either of them for long.

Noodle had always been quick to figure out puzzles and such, more so than 2D ever could, and it was no surprise that she quickly darted at the Satanist, her visage a mixture of obscure emotions, "What are you doing with my Les Paul, Murdoc?" Her voice carried no tune of questioning rather than a dark underlying, "put that back where it belongs because it does not belong to you or face the consequences." Noodle was not one to convey attachment to her belongings. This was common knowledge to the three men of Kong. She strongly believed that items controlled their owners if allowed the chance to, and the only way to enjoy the freedom of life was to rid oneself of such false love.

However...

Her Les Paul fell into a different category. It involved too many emotions...connected her past with her present...held too many memories. It was a part of her, and never would she part with it. Normally, it was found in her room, either in the corner on its stand, or on its wall host next to her many decorations. However, the past few nights, she had been practicing with it out of her room, but she was unquestionably certain that the last place she had left it was the recording room. What business did Murdoc think he had lugging it around like so?

Brows furrowing with a clenched growl, the unstable jailbird kept his venomous glare on the youngest band member, bringing his arms forth, the left one wrapped poorly in some gauze, but this meant nothing to the girl when her emeralds fell on the item in his grip...or items. From behind her she could hear the bluehead gasp within a hiccup, obviously about ready to jump out the window if necessary, blinding rain or not. Without a doubt, things were about to get far worse than just ugly. Latching onto 2D's leg, Mike shivered a bit. Within seconds, the young songwriter cursed at the fact that their leader was blocking the only way out and simply scooted his chair in between the wall and fridge. Curling the monkey into his grasp, they clung onto each other and mentally prepared for Armageddon.

The teen's drained face barely moved as her shaking hands reached forward, fearful of her fingers actually touching her once prized, and once working, Les Paul. "_What_....have...you..._done_...?" she snarled, her shoulders trembling her entire body, lips curling back into a rage Murdoc knew only too well. The answer was simple. Her demand was searching for the reason. He knew how much that guitar meant to her. Her worries took no consideration of his irked, but strangely softening glare, or the fact of his deep wounded gash. No. This was not about Murdoc.

This was about her.

Who she was.

What she loved.

The cowering singer, face snuggled within the hair of the primate, kept his eyes on the bassist's arm, curious of the strange situation. What could Murdoc have possibly done in order to break a guitar and injure himself so? The man was known to be reckless, but even he wasn't _that_ careless. Murdoc wasn't one to get hurt from accidents. The singer, himself had suffered through a coma, holding onto the thread of life by its strands, and Murdoc? Why, the poor soul had cut three of his fingers while entering in through the broken display window, doing his best to shove drumsticks down his shirt before the cops could show up. The blood dripped down along his forearm, neatly falling into a thick and rather dainty puddle on the already filthy linoleum tiles. The singer's eyes followed the drops one by one, swallowing nervously in the awkward silence. "Why wosn't this in yo' _room_...?" the front man whispered in a dangerous tone, clearly about to turn the tables of blame on the young woman. Her once trembling fingers hastily morphed into fists tightening by her sides, teeth clenched so hard the bluehead feared her ears would begin to spout blood from the pressure her temples were going under. However, he remained silent as the night. Only a fool would bring up any form of fun fact for Noodle at the moment.

Her eyes held burning revulsion for the man before her; only he was able to make a decent morning turn to shit before her very eyes. She wrenched the two pieces from his throbbing grasp, horrified that the thick slime that had smeared against her hands was not the bassist's sweat, but his warm, viscid blood. The body of the guitar slipped out from her clasp, the spread of blood easily sliding the flow until the five inches of the remaining neck released itself from the young woman's hand. It clanged against the floor, absent of any non-broken wires that might have vibrated in the effect. The other half of the guitar's neck dropped on the other side of Noodle, the shock of her guitar falling startling her nerves beyond control. Her hands slowly lifted while she kept her head low, merely staring at the foul fluid that was not hers. Those miraculous emeralds gazed up numbly at the silent bassist, his own anger lost to the attention he was giving his arm. She watched him lift the gauze in annoyance, huffing a grumble, either slightly disgusted or irritated at the hack job engraved into his flesh.

He brushed past her nonchalantly, eying the frozen chameleon apparently trying to merge himself with the wall aside the fridge on his way to the sink. A low snarl escaped the dark one, his nose wrinkling in the process, "The fuck you lookin' at, faceache?" he snapped, and the nervous young man merely shook his head in quick jerks, lifting his hands, palms out, innocently. However, the quivering monkey took this chance to leap out of the singer's hold and make a hurdling jump over the mess blocking the doorway, out of sight, out of mind. Watching the animal's tail disappear into the hallway of darkness, the singer furrowed his brows, crossing his arms sourly, "_Lucky bastard_._.._" Quietly sighing, he arched a brow at the moptop's grunts, squinting curiously at the injured man. It took quite a lot of willpower to overcome the wave of nausea that shot through the singer's body and almost out his mouth. He wasn't exactly positive what to call the injury, but it sure as hell wasn't close to any cut or gash he had ever endured. The flesh seemed to have ripped a decent sized flap out, blood flowing but not gushing out, as the singer would have expected. It didn't appear that any important artery had been punctured from what he gathered, considering the Brit was still standing, albeit wearily. His hand gently tapped the flap of skin back in like a triangular shaped doorway, all the way until it fit back, then hastily wrapped nearly the entire roll of paper towels around the arm, closing his eyes tightly for a moment to catch his breath. The bluehead had seen this and worse in his time...but it wasn't ever on a body that was still alive.

Heart before brain, the tender souled 2D perked up a questioning finger, features slightly wincing, "M-Muds? I fink yeh might need a doctor. Like in a 'ospital..." he started weakly, voice disappearing as the bassist slowly cracked his head to his left to face him. Although his face was paling, nothing could ever cover the look in the man's eyes that threatened malicious intent if anything was further aggravated. Mismatched eyes falling back on his work, the hardly even-tempered musician's clawed fingers lightly tightened the self-made cast, folding and tucking here and there to avoid the lack of security his arm was already suffering through. However, it just wasn't enough. Such an injury required stitching and proper disinfectant at the very least, nonetheless the singer knew the bassist, and neither of the two required were going to be any options Murdoc would ever think of. Kissing his face good-bye, 2D gulped roughly, leisurely making his way out of his seat. He only wished a better distraction had come over him eating his breakfast. He would've eaten his bowl along with everyone else's had he known this was intended for his future.

"...U-Uhm...M-Muds? Yo' seepin' frew the p-"

The dark one's screech of ominous torment echoed through the narrow halls of Kong Studios, slightly disturbing the American from his dream world. His eyes lifted lazily, barely holding steady until his lids capped the whites once more.

2D, then lying on the floor, was clutching his nose dearly, holding back the tears threatening to river down his cheeks. The pain had shot to the back of his brain, almost knocking him out cold, but it hadn't for only one reason. The bassist had drawn back his fist as quickly as he had fired it. In his moment of aggravation and fury, Murdoc had thrown out the closest arm facing the dullard...his left. As if he were feeling the wound open up for the first time, the grimy Brit yelped in horror as once again, the blood began trickling down, now staining the whites of the paper towels much more rapidly than before. Before he could catch his breath, the entire arm was a bloody mess, and even more so that it had paper stuck to it. Tearing the covering off as quickly as he could without further damaging himself, the bassist cursed and cursed again until he ran out of profanities to exploit.

"Yeh _fuckin'_ good for nothin' dickless skeeve! Mind yo' own fuckin' _business_! I ain't need no crack's 'elp! Or yo' advice!" the wounded Brit snarled, raising his right arm this time in order to finish the bluehead's sentence. A bloodied hand shot out and caught the fist before it could graze the singer's nose, capped by both hands, now sprinkled with droplets of blood, as were his clothes and a fraction of the refrigerator.

"Do not touch him again...or I will even up your other arm."

The young man from Crawley furrowed his brows, finally realizing the level of threat the teen had offered, soft worried eyes popping ample their size. Oh, why did he have to get stuck in the middle of their mess? What had he gotten from it so far? A stinging nose and now an uprising continuous fight between two band mates. Gently touching his nose to verify it wasn't broken, he quickly glanced at his hands grimly. Ah yes, a personal touch of Murdoc was coating him as well. Fantastic.

Squeezing the bassist's wrist far tighter than necessary, the Asian guitarist glared up at him without the slightest tinge of pity. She threw his arm back into his chest, taking up the space between the two men in case he decided to try again. Crossing her arms icily, she spared him no mercy with her words, "You are the most unbelievable, selfish, disgusting _disgrace_ that I have ever been forced to cross paths with. You have no consideration for what is not _yours_; You injure yourself while _shattering_ my guitar, something that holds so many memories dear to me that I cannot fathom any replacement for it...then drag yourself in here so you can gloat like the leader you _think_ you are? You smeared your _fluids_ on _everyone_ and _everything_ and...when 2D worries for _your_ sake, you resort to violence...?" she snarled venomously, teeth grinding together between each and every syllable, "What _is_ your fucking _problem_?"

Half of the singer's face had disappeared within the neck hole of his shirt. Never in all the years he knew her had Noodle ever cursed such a word...and in such a dark and residual way. Knees pulled up to his chest, the caps buckled in fear, even though as he was sure as day that the martial arts expert was on his side of the chessboard; the young woman could be frightening when officially furious, and he was positive she was past enraged. Peering out from behind Noodle's figure, the singer snapped back into his previous position, ducking his head as far as it could hide between his shoulder blades. If the teen was pissed...Murdoc was absolutely livid.

For the moment, he seemed to have forgotten his pain as his face burned up with his rising anger, "An' just 'ew the 'ell do yeh think yo' talkin' to, girlie?" Lifting a finger of warning, the bassist hissed, "I 'ad this fuckin' roof over yo' 'ead since before you got yo' _period_. If some fuckin' piece of equipment 'appens to break in _my_ 'ouse, oh, fuckin' well. If all this could've been avoided but you decided teh be a fool an' leave somethin' that precious to yeh out in the open, _oh_, _fuckin'_ _well_. An' if I'm in a really...really..._horrendous_...mood, bleedin' out life as we speak, an' a fuckin' retard 'as the balls to make my day worse...an' I clock 'im...OH, FUCKIN', WELL!" he spat at her, heavily breathing as his hand slapped his arm to somewhat prevent the bleeding. However, in respond to this, Noodle kneeled beside the singer, placing her hands gently on his face, (though too late realizing she still had blood on them), and pulled his shirt down to where it belonged so she could tend to his nose. Running a tender finger down the young man's nose, she slowly pinched each part, asking him questions with her eyes.

"I should feel sorry for you."

She tilted her head as the keyboardist winced at the bridge.

"You are the type who deserves pity. You are angry...and rotten to the core. You believe hurting others is your gain to pleasure. Is it so wondrous, Murdoc?" She paused, looking down at her lap, "Do you enjoy doing what you do? Even when it hurts the ones who care?" She had held this in for so long...some of it recited from thoughts passed years ago. Thoughts then had been unable to be brought forth due to a language barrier. Yet, she had not forgotten them. Not one bit. The singer held a special bond with her. He always had. He had always protected her as a child...and when had she returned the favor? His beatings were numerous, as well as merciless. When had he become so deserving of such a haunting punishment? "I had once believed that people could change...I believe you are the only one who has proved me wrong, Murdoc. You cling to the evil that has been eating you alive...you exert it through your words and actions, and take no regard of the consequences that come with it." Shaking her head, the young woman slowly lifted her eyes and peered over her shoulder, gazing at the middle aged man giving her a strange and peculiar stare, "You will always remain the angry, lonely Satanist who pretends to gain his happiness through things that cannot make him smile. You will always feel guilt and despise yourself, though preach of your self-fondness. You will forever envy the untouchable emotions that the rest of us can achieve..."

Her eyes sadly lingered, almost as if she had lost something in him long ago, "I should feel sorry for you...but the sad thing is...I do not."

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**Author's Note**: Hello all, I'm back...which is odd to say because I never actually left. I've still been reading, reviewing, and writing, as well as drawing. However, I just haven't uploaded anything in a long time. Reason? Well, if anyone had been reading my profile news updates, I had a virus in my laptop for a few months now, and my laptop continuously had been shut off by itself. Now, I thought this had been due to the virus, but when I popped open the back panel, I discovered a wad of dust clogging the vent. No wonder it had been shutting down. It was merely saving the hard drive from melting. After cleaning that out, I ran an anti-virus scan and voila! Brand spankin' new laptop in my hands once again. I'm thrilled to the bone.

Now, for this fic. It's going to be quite a bit different than my other fics.

Why?

Unlike my other story, **Want Me Not**, where 2D has obviously found himself within a monastery, I don't actually mention much of actual Buddist beliefs, but more of his escape from his past while trying to make his present comfortable. This story might and probably will be much more controversial, especially in the next chapter. I'd like to state right now that personally, I merely view this as another way to reach out in my creativity. I have my own views and beliefs, and hold onto them strongly. As you read this story, I would simply like reviews to be based on the story of course, and not of any religion banter. We're all entitled to what we believe and like I said, I am merely being in character. (And when I do that, I try my hardest). Btw, I planned for this to be a oneshot, so these chapters aren't really chapters, but more like cut offs for you to read easily. I, myself, enjoy a nice long read, but I understand most people take a while to read very long chapters, and eyes start crossing after a while, so I'll be generous and chop it down, only because it would be a super ridiculous read, probably like a chapter in **Addiction**. XD

Tidbit for the audience: While writing this, I had a hard time deciding what Noodle needed to say to project her anger using foul language. XD I don't see her as a character who throws it around, but the other phrases I originally intended seemed too out of character.


	2. Part 2

**Author's Note**: I want to thank everyone for all the alerts, favorites, reviews and such. It really does motivate me to write and put my all into it. I will not and do not write if my heart is not one hundred percent into the story, because I refuse to deliver nothing more than my best, and of course, motivation is a huge part of my best. Enjoy!

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Part 2

...Her heart seemed to tighten as she turned a corner, her own words from the early morning still haunting her this very night. After tending to the singer's tender nose, which included a nasal strip to prevent his continuous sniffling and a sweet kiss on the tip to make the pain go away (a ritual she just couldn't reason him out of, not that she minded), the young woman had soon grew weary of pacing her time. The morning's events could not be shaken from her thoughts; the more she avoided them, the longer they teased. Was it guilt she was feeling? Was it cooled anger? No. This didn't feel like either of the above...

It was more like unfinished business. She had questions stored in the back of her mind...ones that longed to be answered...but she wasn't quite sure how to form those feelings into words. And that's what they were. Just feelings...emotions that yearned to be understood and expressed, however as long as Noodle remained confounded by such sensations, forever would they remain within her twisting estranged soul. Squeezing her eyes shut only for a moment, she shook her head, her thick gentle bangs sliding towards the left, back pressed against the wall like the stealth ninja she was trained to be. For the nearly thirty seconds the moon had been free of cover, the teen's sole viewable eye glittered in its emerald vividness, slowly scanning the shadows of the hallway before she darted quiet as a cat to the next landing point. She sat her rear on the brass railing of the stairwell, back still to the wall. It was a fool's game to allow an easy target, especially during the night. That was _their_ expertise. She would not be victim to such darkly frivolous horseplay. A painful death was not something she was planning on this evening or any other evening. Bit by bit she slid herself down, pausing only when her ears played tricks on her.

A weary moan startled her beyond expectance, however her reaction time was easily played. Every muscle in her body seized at the sudden low whine, swallowing the awful hard lump that had built up in her throat. Without drawing attention to herself, she slipped into the biggest shadow cast across the stairwell base, peering up through her bangs to see where and when this creature decided to show itself. Above her by twenty-seven steps, a bunny slippered foot popped out, pausing for a moment to spin on its heel before facing its intended direction once again. A wave of relief washed over the young woman, releasing the pent up breath she had stored up for the necessary leap of energy...had she needed it, for pacing the top floor of Kong Studios was the one and only Russel Hobbs, suited in a blue button down shirt and matching pajama pants set, a plate of chocolate chip cookies in one hand and a glass of milk in the other. His lazy eyes seemed to glaze over his surroundings, not quite paying attention to anything other than the food to be soon consumed. The man appeared to enjoy making the trip downstairs and back seem easy compared to the karate expert's surreptitious moves, however one was not to mess with the American drummer when he was transporting a midnight snack. His reaction was as good as that of a rabid bear, and the undead were already weary of his artistic experimentation. They were most popular for having one-tracked minds, but they weren't stupid. Most stood clear of the food sensitive male. If anyone loved eating more than zombies, it was Russel.

His cushioned feet softly padded their way into his room, his door clicking and lock snapping without a further sound. The Asian inwardly sighed, a small shadow of a smile lingering along her lips before disappearing completely. She had a mission to complete. Chest rising in a profound breath, she dashed down the remaining stairs, making a sharp left at the bottom. Her reactions resembled that of a horror film, as if something or someone were chasing her. Her very life seemed to depend on said actions, for if she allowed one mistake, it would cost her dearly. Making it to the end of the hall with much more effort than necessary, the teen rubbed her nose with her forearm, bending her arm up to run her fingers along her neck. Of all the places to cramp up...most likely from that jagged turn just a few moments previous.

Even so, she had made it. Well...halfway.

Peering out into the rather large room, she found herself looking into the living room, the destination floor just one below her. "_This is ridiculous_," she thought, her heart's pump echoing in her ears. It was just all that constant thinking she had done earlier. It had merely boosted her adrenaline was all. There was nothing wrong with shooting off a few questions she had been dying to ask since they had met...and even demand a simple apology for the whole incident a few hours before. It wouldn't kill the man to just _pretend_ he had some form of remorse for the whole thing...to actually act as if what she had said to him meant anything...

Perhaps that was asking for too much, but Noodle had to try. She and the bassist were never two to truly see eye to eye with one another, mostly because Murdoc was one to look down on anything or anyone that wasn't associated with _his_ ideas, and two, because of those beloved Cuban heeled boots of his. However, as the years grew on, the tiny, lovable Asian chatterbox had slowly bloomed into a still short, but reasonably taller, charming young woman (and still quite lovable). No longer could Murdoc's towering glare situate her into silence. Surely she believed that earlier that day, she had, for once, switched places with the oldest band member, surprising herself in the process...as she was now.

Never before had she gone and demanded anything after an argument, especially as steamed as hers. Typical behavior for the gentle flower was to settle back in her room, listen to her headphones, sketch, write poetry, play her guitar or simply meditate until the next morning, when things would cool off between she and the offender, allowing nature to balance things back into order. Furrowing her brows, she realized why none of this had worked. Almost everything involving her relaxation involved her guitar...and that simply reboiled her anger over and over until landing her in her current spot, peeking out into the living room once again. Murdoc had destroyed her only ways of curing herself. If she was to find any solace from her unfortunate misfortune, she was going to have to confront him face to face...morning could not wait.

A sharp click threw Noodle from her thoughts and heart into her belly. Slapping her body tightly against the wall, her eyes twitched from left to right, finding no creeping attacker whatsoever alongside her. Curiously lifting a brow, the teen leaned to the right, tilting out her ear as if to get a clue from the room. A feeble grunt answered her awaiting signal, neck angled far enough to glance, but not be noticed (if she remained still as a statue). She watched the shaded figure slowly saunter in, wrestling with the door a bit to retrieve the ring binding the land's signature key with others. The gentle jingling was washed out with the snap of the sky's clapping thunder; the morning's rain had not ceased one bit throughout the day. A short, soundless snort escaped the guest, pulling the key with all his strength, finally prying it from its slot before pushing the door closed with his elbow, fingers desperately fumbling with the locks to ensure the building a somewhat safe night.

The teen watched as the shaded figure pressed his back against the door, head lifted towards the ceiling with a deep sigh...and then...a vocal wave of nausea.

Eyes widening, the young woman watched as the figure's hand capped over his mouth, seemingly swallowing, or forcing back whatever was trying to make its way back up. Biting her lip in realization, Noodle's tense body pushed off from her hiding spot, very slowly and carefully trying to make her presence known. She soon recognized this to be a bad idea. The man's multicolored eyes grimly gazed up, both trying to focus on the dawdling creature making its way towards him, filling with sudden destructive motives, "Aw, shit..." His body staggered as he used the wall to lean on, hand patting around to find any nearby weapon and hoping to Father Time himself that his hourglass wasn't going to run out like this.

Another wave of nausea came over him and his head began to pound harder...

His breathing already rough and lurching...

"...Murdoc?"

There was a familiar voice. A warm, gentle hand brushed over his cheek...so warm. His body was feeling awfully cold. Chills seemed to claim his skin, as soaked as it was. Unable to focus again, he lifted his right arm to rub his eyes, squinting before he realized he was looking up at the girl, and not across. Her features were etched with concern, something she had denied him much earlier in the day. About to open his mouth, he quickly closed it, afraid the contents of his stomach would spray over them both. "Murdoc, can you hear me?" the tender voice asked, brushing his pasted hair from his face. Using a fraction of the energy he had left, the man gave a single nod, pinching between his eyes in hopes to clear up the blurriness. "M'I on the floor?" he whispered almost lifelessly, hand still perched over his eyes.

"...Yes..."

Her hands gently tucked under the bassist's neck on either side, slowly trying to lift him to at least a seated position. Her eyes had easily by now grown accustomed to the dark, and in the man's current condition, she wasn't quite sure a burst of light would do him any good. It was rather strange, seeing Murdoc in such a situation...he didn't smell of weed or alcohol...and though he was soaked to the core from the rain, his skin was deathly to the touch and his face drained of all color. Something was off.

"Slowly...slowly..." he heaved through gritted teeth, swallowing hard. Finally he released his vision, carefully focusing on the closest thing...or person, to him. Lifting his hand towards the doorknob, the man did his best to try and gather himself to his feet...to no avail. It was a miracle he had made it back home. From pure drive or pride, he wasn't sure which...but he had made it home. Shaking her head, the teen took his hand, pulling his arm over her neck and wrapped her left around the man's back and under his arm, clutching his chest lightly. He had a weak stomach and there was no doubt if she placed any more pressure than necessary on him, he would explode like a backed up septic tank. His head bobbed dangerously close to passing out Noodle noticed, popping her shoulder slightly to hopefully wake him up from the stupor. Luckily, it worked; she managed to guide him over to the couch and seat him gently on the right side facing her.

As soon as seated his eyes shut, taking in deep narrow breaths, constantly flicking out his tongue to wet his lips. Rubbing her arms from the chills and slight dampness he shared, the young woman glanced to the side, eying the lamp on the table beside him. "I am going to turn on the light...be prepared."

In all honesty, it was she who required preparation for the sight she was about to view. The light proved just how pale Murdoc was in comparison to his black leather jacket and soggy hair, nose flaring as he did his best to stay conscious. His fingers twitched, but only on his right hand, his left hand seemed to be completely void of motion. The rest of him merely shivered in uncontrollable spasms. It appeared he was in a fight with himself, trying to hold off whatever was happening to him on his own. Glancing down slightly, Noodle felt a knot twist in her stomach. She couldn't help but feel obligated to assist him in any way she could. And somewhere darkly hidden in her conscious, a small voice blamed her for his current condition.

Shaking herself hard, the teen moved on from such reprimanding thoughts. There was no time for that now. "Murdoc," she started, peering at his motionless face, "...Murdoc?" After a second of silence, the girl aimed a nervous slap at his cheek, knocking him into her world once again, albeit grouchily. "Wot the fuck?" he weakly snapped, slowly rubbing his face with a tired glare. The silence trailed between them once again, but this time Murdoc was awake for it. Holding her arm behind her, she allowed her eyes to fall to the floor, "You...are not well." she answered quietly, "You do not _look_ well...Half dead, honestly." Furrowing his brows, the bassist scoffed, even in his weakest state, "An' you look like a bowl o' peaches n' cream." Crossing her arms with a scowl, the young musician growled. If he expected to make it through the night, he was going to have to play by her rules.

"What have you been doing?"

"...Don't believe that's any o' yeh fuckin' business, _honestly_." the man replied, sarcasm dripping from his last word purposely. Had Noodle otherwise known he could very well release his stomach's contents all over her, she would have gifted him with a nice right jab. Making her way to the coat closet, the teen yanked open the door and ruffled through the mess until she found the fleece blanket she had been searching for. Fleece was very thin to the human eye, however it packed warmth tenfold. This would at least rid the bassist of his horrid temperature. "Remove your jacket," she ordered, unfolding the blanket before him and whipping it out. Her eyes slowly glanced at him in his pathetic state, stretching out the compact fabric. Running his tongue over his teeth, the band leader look a deep breath, ignoring her.

"I said remove your jacket."

"I'm fine...Just a little tired is all."

"You are _not_ fine. You are on the brink of passing out. You are not fooling anyone, least of all me. Remove the jacket or I will do it for you."

"An' since when do _you_ give a flyin' fuck?"

Flinging the blanket on the couch next to him, the guitarist placed her fists against her hips, fire burning within her jaded jewels as she leaned dangerously close, "Just because I do not _pity_ you does not mean I do not care about you!" Unable to hold his glare any longer, the foul tempered male ripped his eye contact from her, whipping his wet locks as he gazed darkly towards his left, incapable of any comeback to the statement. Sighing, emotionally exhausted, the girl rubbed her eyes, her hand resting on her cheek as the other supported her elbow, "You...you just...make it so hard to." This seemed to get a reaction from the man as he grinded his back teeth, still, however, avoiding to look her in the eye. Taking a step closer, she extended her hand, "Remove your jacket, Murdoc."

"M'perfectly content in it, thanks." he grumbled, an unavoidable shiver attacking his body. Furrowing her brows in anger, the teen scowled. "You are a _liar_."

"An' a thief." he added with an arched brow, almost insulted she had spared him the title. Reaching for the man's sleeve, she managed to pull his right hand out, however not without a great commotion from the owner. "Noodle! Get off! I said-OW, CHRIST! NOODLE, GET THE FUCK _OFF_!" he hissed, ripping his arm from her with a deathly glare, but the girl's interest was elsewhere. The right sleeve was off, and the bassist was wearing the jacket halfway...protecting his left arm with what was left of his life. Eyes focused on his arm, the Japanese mail-in tapped her chin curiously, "Murdoc, how is your arm?"

"Fine as fuckin' dandy can be, couldn't yeh guess?" he snapped, glaring down at his recently moved arm. Slowly shifting her glance up to the bassist's rapidly tinting face, she gently pursed her lips, blinking twice before sighing. Nodding his head back a bit, he clenched his jaw shut, "Aw 'ell...I'm g-gunna..."

He took another moment to relax his muscles, and concentrate on fighting back his body's urge to expel vomit...something he nearly did as Noodle's daring action promisingly threw him into a blackout. His entire body froze as the pain shot from his arm to every inch of him, stars, colors, faces, voices...all pounding into him at once. There was nothing more painful than holding in one's overbearing screech, something that would have woken up all of the United Kingdom, and then some. He could taste blood...most likely from his bottom lip, but that was merely a guess. The only pain he could feel was the flesh ripping gash in his left arm, newly reopened for the loss of count time that day, haphazardly tended to and not at all professionally. To Murdoc, it had just been a simple gash that would soon tender up and heal on its own, much like the rest of him had over the years. To any other sane person, it was something that, as 2D had requested, required a qualified specialist in a sanitized workstation.

"Murdoc, are you _insane_?" the teen yelped, grabbing fistfuls of her own hair as she backed up slightly, only to examine closely again. The man seemed to be really big into do it yourself kits. He had been sporting a first aid gauze that wasn't nearly as big or prepared for such an injury as his, not to mention the jacket seemed to have been holding the entire thing securely, and Noodle's yank had just pulled everything apart...literally. The foul stench wasn't even close to what the young woman had expected or even thought she could tolerate...but she had to do something. "No wonder you are so lethargic! You _are_ half dead! Just think about how long you have been _bleeding_ for! And I doubt its had a decent sterilization..." she ranted, pinching her nose as she covered her mouth, doing her best to prevent the foul odor from entering and registering. Squeezing his eyes shut, the bassist's lips curled back into a snarl, right hand patting the wound gently, whispering, "Shut up" repetitively between each breath. Noodle's scolding prattle was the last thing he needed rattling inside his head.

Opening his eyes, the man's face blanked of all emotion, blinking furiously, "Oh shit....shit, shit, shit....s-seein' spots..." He did his best to remain calm, knowing stress would do nothing more than steer him down a blackout road faster. Clearing his throat, he rested his head back, deciding to close his eyes and concentrate on his deep breathing. If he couldn't see the damage...and ignore the side effects from it...then perhaps he could mentally hang on to reality. Running his tongue against his teeth, the band leader swallowed hard, feeling his muscles tense and pull against their better nature. He was burning up now...feeling the beads of sweat trickle down his forehead and mix with the raindrops that still hung off him. Near death experiences were crazy rides. That was one thing he would try to take from this moment. A somewhat positive outlook of the most horrid feelings in the world.

As if his spine had snapped, the dark one shot forward, the body ignoring all better judgment of the consequences moving the arm was going to do, and belched the horrid result of all he had eaten throughout the day combined with else knows what. It filled a good half of the bucket Noodle had timely prepared, nearly washing in the rancid liquid had her aim been off an inch. The man's shoulders heaved as his face disappeared within the large green sand bucket, the sounds he expelled forcing Noodle to swallow roughly when she glanced away. She didn't deserve any of this...yet had she not been there...looking for him of all people...he would have probably been passed out on the floor, drowning himself in this...waste. Arching a brow, the teen winced as she readied herself to pull the bucket away, watching the bassist's eyes weakly lift up to lock with hers before they popped, wrenching into the capsule once again.

"Ugh....Oh God...get it away..." he groaned when finally sure his stomach would hold long enough for the bucket to be emptied, "Tha' smells..._'orrid_..."

A cool rag swept across his brow, the dampness setting the man into a relaxed mode...for as relaxed as he could get. He kept his eyes closed, refusing to lick anything around his lips or even think about the area, listening to the sounds of the toilet flushing down the hall...the stream of an open faucet...the gentle steps of his guitarist. It didn't do much for his state of being, but it gave him something to cling onto in his conscious state. What seemed to be a wet paper towel collided with his lips, cleaning off what he had refused to. A few pats of another rag gently rubbed along his face where sweat had gathered, and finally the teen rolled up the one that capped the Brit's vision. Never had it been so hard to merely open his eyes. They wanted to stay closed...to drift into a warm and comforting land...

"Murdoc?"

He did his best to fight them open and hers shifted.

"...I'm going to stitch your arm."

That was enough to bring him back.

Eyes rolling around before falling on where he intended them to, the Gorillaz front man leaned more towards his left, protecting it with the right shoulder he gave Noodle. "Yeh ain't touchin' me arm. If you lot would just leave it alone, it'll fix. I already told yeh, I don't need no one's 'elp." he grumbled with a heavy sniff, ignoring the girl next to him. Furrowing her brows, the Asian huffed, "Well then, it is no weight on my back if you want to die from blood loss or infection...do you really want to lose that arm?" The bassist's shoulder shifted, capping his ear slightly. His faulty breathing staggered, back shuttering with each lift. "Do yeh really wanna be askin' me that?" he snapped, merely a phrase to shut her up, but to Noodle, it was much more.

She had come down to talk with him...to demand from him...

Perhaps...

Perhaps...this was it...

Her chance to buy time...time enough for an explanation. And at this time of night, who would disturb them? Gently resting her front teeth over her bottom lip, the young woman felt her shoulders tense, her heart beginning to nervously jitter. What was she so afraid of? She had faced the undead since she was ten years old, fought off mobs of camera clinging drones and enamored fans, was cared for by a man who had a personal bond with the soul reaper, was best friends with a Brit who lived in his own world at times that could scared her beyond reality, and even dared an unauthorized entry into the dark and dank Winnebago to steal the once coveted stash of brownies she had seen Murdoc sneak in...only to find that the risk had rewarded her with a strange taste in her mouth and multicolored dreams.

And all that before she had hit puberty.

What was stopping her now?

Swallowing hard, her gleaming eyes rose, resting on the pale musician's mug, refusing her help, but in obvious pain. There was only one way she would be able to get through his mind. "How will you be able to hold your bass?" she asked quietly, watching his face twist into what she could only assume was curiosity...as if he had wondered it himself before. His fingers slowly ran back and forth on undamaged skin, quiet in voice, but loud in thought. "Your ways of healing will deny you at least a few more weeks before you can pick up even a pot. I'm not forcing you to a hospital...which would have been the best choice," she added darkly, catching his weak eye swirl, "But...I do know a bit of medical aid...the longer you wait, the more pain you will suffer. Not to mention a slow and painful death, infection or not, even _if_ you believe in that rejuvenation thing you do every few years." the girl finished, crossing her arms as she stood. A slow smirk answered the guitarist's serious whisper, completely aware of her assumptions.

The man was also completely aware of the truth in her words.

As stubborn as he was, he knew he would be dead meat if he tried to make it to the Winnebago. The swarms of starving corpses would hound him down quicker than the change of weather around Kong...or he could possibly fall over and bleed out. Neither he was much in favor for. Nostrils flaring in unwilling defeat, the man tilted his head up, or doing his best to. Time was hastily running out...and if were for 'in the name of music', then conceivably he could get away with the assistance...in a term used most by him, 'It's all business'.

Slowly blinking, the bassist shakily raised his right hand, flicking a few wet drops about to fall from his soppy hair. Clearing the roughness from his voice, something he had still managed to keep even in his dire situation, the Brit painfully and leisurely tilted somewhat in the girl's direction, "A quick patch job...nothin' more. We 'ave practice tomorrow." Arching a well-hidden brow, the teen pouted her lip in disbelief. "You do not _actually_ believe you will be in any condition to be playing your bass tomorrow, do you? I said it would take longer for you to heal if you have it your way...not that my way will magically heal you over night." she scoffed, patting him once more with the clean side of a rag, making sure he was reacting to her motion, "This is not the medical wing in Hogwarts."

Popping an eye, the chill bitten loner pointed at his bad arm with his good one, patience wearing thin, "Tick tock."

Sighing jadedly, the young woman shook her head, gathering up the rags and shoving the bucket into the man's good arm (albeit subconsciously harder than she could have), receiving a stiff glare from the man, but she ignored it. Quickly she jogged to the kitchen, tossing the rags in the sink and running the tap on ice cold before stopping at the fridge in hopes to find one last beer can lying around for grabs. Luckily there were three. It had just struck her that Murdoc's condition was nothing to take lightly. What had she been doing making casual talk, scolding him as if it were a scrape on the knee? The man was bleeding out for crying out loud, where was her head? Strangely it had been like time had paused or somehow slowed as they talked from the moment she discovered the cause of his sickness. It was amazing how easily he could steer her worry into shifty irritation. Why was he so stubborn? So grouchy? So unwilling to have anyone help him from the goodness of their hearts?

Racing to the broom closet in the corner of the kitchen, Noodle slid the beer onto the table, wiping the condensation on her shirt. Her hand twisted against the knob, wrenching it open as fast as she could without ripping it off its hinges. The studio was indeed old after all. Her eyes darted to where she knew the drummer kept his threads and needles for casual taxidermy. He often worked on small projects while dinner cooked to pass the time. The mere thought of deceased animal carcasses sprawled across the table where they frequently ate sent shivers down the teen's spine, but she brushed them off as soon as they came. The bassist's chills were much more severe than hers. Her fingers hooked around the container, clasping it to her chest, then quickly closed the door behind her with her foot. Snagging the beverage, the karate expert skid into the living room where the nearly lifeless lump was waiting quite quietly.

Dumping the metallic box next to him, Noodle furrowed her brows, snapping in the man's ear. "Murdoc? Murdoc, I need you to stay awake." she reminded, squeezing his cheeks in her hands. Gradually lifting his lids, the soggy moptop still managed to make his nerves tick in his right eye, "Get yo' 'ands off m'face, Noodle." Finding this a decent enough reaction answer, the girl tucked the beer in the man's grip. His eyes followed the coolness of the feeling, a very small perk of his lips greeting the teasing drink. "Well 'ello there..." the bassist sighed, fingers fumbling with the tab of the can.

_Fffftsssssss!_

Lovely. The sound of an alcoholic's soul. Well, so far the girl was doing all right. At least she knew how to bring a man his drink, especially when he needed one. The can was merely centimeters away from his lips before whisked away, all sense of relaxation replaced with irritation. "Wot the 'ell, Noodle!" the Brit snapped as he watched her also take the vomit bucket and seat herself crossed legged, facing him. Her hands swiftly fixated the bucket within the diamond in her lap, twisting it as if it were a steering wheel, patting it when she was sure it was exactly where she wanted it to be. Her occupied hand clenched the can dearly while she did all this, her eyes never moving from her lap. Blinking to enter herself back into a world that shared more than just her mind, the teen glanced up, confused of the man's grouchy demeanor. Can catching her eye, Noodle's brows lifted, her face molded of serious innocence, "I need this."

No near death experience could faze him from that sentence. Giving the girl a once over, Murdoc sniffed, trying to peg the youngest's motives, "An' since when do you drink?" doing his best to sound as indifferent as possible. It was truthfully hard to, though. Noodle was the only good thing of Gorillaz, and that's what made them different. He wasn't quite sure what would happen if that image was altered in some way. The young woman's violet hair rustled as she shook her head in two quick whips, stretching her hand out towards his damaged arm, "I do not. Your arm has not been sterilized since this morning, and even if it had been, I would still need to sanitize it before proceeding with the stitching. Oh!" she suddenly grunted, realizing she had forgotten to boil a needle. Well, that would have to do afterwards. Her eyes trailed to the kitchen, able to hear the faucet still running on the rags she would need. Patting her face gently in a reprimanding manor, the teen pulled the bucket off, leaving the bassist stumped as she rummaged through the tin box and pulled out whatever she needed, dashing off behind him again.

Staring off into the ceiling, the bassist inwardly groaned. Well, he supposed he did deserve all this delay. Not that hospital staff would have done any better. At least this girl was trying. He could give her points on that.

Within minutes the teen was back, bearing a pair of plastic medical gloves, quite obviously borrowed from Russel's death closet, as the bassist and singer liked to call it. It seemed much more sinister and it fit right into their little masculine club of darkness. "You quite ready yet?" he managed to grumble, eying her repeat the entire position on the couch again. Nodding timidly, Noodle reached over for his left arm, "Uhm...like I was saying...this may hurt a little." Rolling his eyes, the Brit sighed. As if he hadn't been through worse. Placing the three needles on the wet rag sprawled along the cushion, the Japanese guitarist effortlessly tucked the also boiled thread into the eye, easily tying a knot like she had been doing such a task her entire life. Honestly, she was a bit nervous. It had been a while since she had stitched someone up. And never before had it been anyone like Murdoc. Although she was still quite disappointed with him, she felt the subconscious need to be her best, though she wasn't exactly sure why. It wasn't like the man deserved to have such an esteemed position.

Taking a deep breath to calm herself, Noodle's hand hovered over the bassist's, almost afraid to touch him. The front man's composed, yet salty voice pressed her forward, "I ain't gunna bite yeh." he managed to whisper, she unsure if that was his effort at a joke or complete seriousness. She couldn't wave over either. "Do your best to raise when I lift," she ordered, digging her hand under his forearm and doing her best to gently scoop it with the least amount of administered pain possible. The bassist's reaction proved her exertion worthless, nothing was going to pause this pain save the dullard's knockout pills. She carefully guided his arm (he having to twist mostly due to his position on the couch), resting it awkwardly on the mouth of the bucket. Lifting the beer can with a slight swirl, she meekly winced as this caught his attention, "And this will burn."

The man's grip on her own forearm was her slight taste of shared pain as the beer she poured into the wound sizzled and mixed with blood, washing easily into the basin below. "Ugh, _fuck_...." she heard him hiss, muttering something about seeing spots once more. Her free hand searched around for a cool rag behind her, telling him to slowly rest his head sideways on the couch. Had she seated him where she was now, all this would have been much easier...however he hadn't been completely honest with his wound and was now paying for doing everything the hard way. "Slow, deep breaths, Murdoc. I do not want you passing out." she reminded him, wrapping another cloth around his gash, the metallic crunch from the empty can echoing in the darkness. Using both hands, she lifted his arm and rested it back on his lap, careful not to spill the contaminants of the bucket. "I will be right back." she announced, but the bassist merely ignored anything around him. Half of his body felt like it was going numb.

A gentle pressure pressed against his wound, his teeth sinking into his lip before pulling the cloth from his face. It was only Noodle checking on what she had to work with. Shaking his head lightly, he ran the cloth around his neck and behind, kicking off his boots. He had a feeling the night was going to pull long hours on him this evening.

"It is extensive. You really outdid yourself."

Furrowing his brows, the bassist snorted. Was that supposed to be awe or sarcasm?

The girl's soft eyes gently lifted to his, holding back from him, he knew it. But, now, no more. She had to ask him...she had to know.

"In my travel to Japan after our break off...I learned many things. Many things about myself." she started, her fingers pinching at one of the needles behind her. "I also learned many things about the fragility of life...and psychological tools for healing. When one is in pain, the focus of pain can be so great that the body shuts down, or passes out of consciousness. But when one focuses their mind on something else...then sometimes they may overcome the body's will with the choice of the spirit."

Staring at her in boredom, the older man sucked in his cheeks rather than shrugged, "So?"

Lowing her eyes for a moment, the teen flashed them up once again, readying the skin for impact, "I want you to talk. And to remain talking. This way I can see when you are falling out of consciousness...if ever at any point. Like I said, I do not want you passing out any time soon. It could be...dangerous." Before the bassist could complain or grumble about being put on the spot, she quickly injected her thought. "A story, perhaps. Not a fable or tall tale...maybe something about...you? Something important that would take a while to tell or describe...focus on it?" she fumbled, feeling the Brit's stare icing the awkward situation into pure winter. Squeezing her eyes shut for a moment, the teen looked up finally, features weary from the curiosity and pressure, "Why did you choose to become a Satanist, Murdoc?"

* * *

**Author's Note**: Yes, I know, a cliff hanger, but I didn't want to just dive right into a "OMG Murdoc's Past Story :P". I like to describe and apparently Noodle likes description in her story telling, too. Heheh. I do apologize, I did say in the last AN that the controversial stuff was going to happen in this chapter, and it's actually the next. I just hadn't written the chapter out when I posted the past one, so I wasn't sure how the story would lead. Hopefully, I set up a good situation for the two mains to have that precious time in order for Murdoc to start talking. I like Noodle's stress to mess with her usually clear mind. I'm terrible that way. XP

**Tidbit for the Audience**: Apparently the song "Smooth Criminal" by the much adored and beloved Michael Jackson was a huge motivator for writing this, too. I couldn't get the song out of my head, and I somehow managed to write and sing the song in my head at the same time.


	3. Part 3

**Author's Note**: Sorry, all. A much delayed chapter, this I know, and I'm doing my best to end each chapter not so jaggedly because they're not really chapters, but hopefully that's played off well. I was excited about my tablet that I bought in the last weeks of summer and started a comic on my DA account, so that's what I've been busy with, and now for some reason the program I've been using keeps saying its unstable and then closes on me without saving, so that gave me the time to write the rest of this! I suppose it was about time.

I did a LOT of research for these upcoming parts, which is also why it took so long, only for your benefit and enjoyment, of course. I don't write just randomness. All towns and streets are real places in Stoke, all events mentioned actually happened in 1982.

I probably edited this now three times in just author's notes. Wanted to explain one thing. When I describe Murdoc as a child, my descriptions are based not on how Jamie drew him as a kid, cus honestly he looks like a creepy man (I love you, Murdoc. :3), and so since I know all have seen the Dirty Harry video, I'm sure everyone knows what I'm talking about when I say I've based my descriptions on that mini Murdoc in the crowd? Jamie was totally thinking filler right there. I need one more kid...Oh what the hell, Murdoc Junior. He's fantastic though, even if he's in there for like five seconds. If you're completely clueless and you have Rise of the Ogre, the sketch of the kid is in there along with the other children sketches for the Dirty Harry Video. He'll be easy to point out, look for the hair and eyes and you've got Little Murdoc. XD

* * *

Pt 3

The man's multicolored eyes rested on the girl, refusing to move. Strange. She seemed to be so unnerved by the question, merely choking it out. So...unlike her in every way. The room's silence bore a nonexistent draft that seemed to chill them both emotionally. He wasn't entirely in the mood to snap at the one about to mend his arm (and playing arm at that), but it wasn't a question that deserved anger or resentment or any of those negativities. It was a question that required thought, and perhaps emotion...emotion he longed to forget all those years ago.

Blinking once, he licked his lips, watching her as she watched him. His arm wasn't going to get patched unless he said something. _Anything_.

"So yeh '_aven't_ read Rise of the Ogre?"

His voice was quiet, but not at all threatening. More like a young boy in his curious moment, testing his opponent to see how far they would go. The girl's eyes never faltered. The joke flew by with the release of air he had taken. She wanted to know why. Not how. And why shouldn't she? Hadn't they lived under a roof together for much more than a year? _Shouldn't_ there have been some honesty between people who lived together in a household? But he couldn't have been held accountable for that...

No one had ever asked.

Sure, he spilled a few tidbits here and there in Rise of the Ogre, his words exactly mentioning some recollection of a do it yourself kit and old geezer handing out pamphlets back when he was younger than Noodle...but...no one had interrogated beyond that. His answer seemed to have pleased the crowds, everyone much more interested in a past that connected him with an abusive father, a jail bound brother, and a musical thievery that landed him into easy retirement. No one had ever cared about the days and years weaved between those landmark dates, the life that was once part of a teenaged boy who merely had a dream not yet achieved. A boy who had lived in the gutter of Stoke-On-Trent making it day to day to only be thankful he had survived until the night...and not even sure if that was something to be thankful for. One who did his best to dodge his father's rare appearance, avoid his brother's humor filled beatings, slide by school, and even manage to have a couple of cronies who made him feel life could be worth living if their minds were put to use. A boy who quickly discovered that being a man meant you were on your own...and no one was _ever_ going to be there for you...aside from your own self...if that even counted.

The bassist swallowed, not realizing his throat had gone dry. It was a strange tap the girl had managed to probe into his emotional state of mind, making him experience the oddest feelings that hadn't run him in over twenty years. Cracking the fingers of his right hand, the man glanced at his arm, the pain somehow gone from thought. Maybe that mental focus wasn't as crazy as he had assumed it to be. "Yeh been thinkin' about this for a while." It was more of a statement than anything, but Noodle felt the need to affirm the suggestion, giving a quick robotic nod. The sensations of awkwardness and anxiety had soon passed as quickly as the question asked. Noodle was no longer the one in fear. Chewing his bottom lip, the man sighed quietly. Well...it was about time he got it off his chest, not that it had been eating him up or anything...but to share something so life changing...

Not to mention it would definitely pass the time. There was much to tell.

"Get started," the Brit nodded at the wound, the world seeming to melt around him, though it could have been the loss of blood, "Its...not an easy one to tell."

Faces, voices, colors, laughter, pain, sadness, desperation.

The room seemed to dissolve away into the outside world of a chilly afternoon, a swift breeze smacking him unexpectedly in the face. The once Japanese female before him was no longer, her eyes slowly elongated at the ends, popping a bit more in their mint green brightness, deeply contrasting with her long, jagged, crudely banged, dark chocolate brown hair, so rich and powerful the shade choked every strand. Her skin had become pale white, save for the numerous freckles speckled across her cheeks, making all wonder if the sun had ever kissed the girl's body whatsoever, but the thought dissipated when she threw him a crooked grin, pearly whites as clean as could be, and as close to straight could get with an income like hers or anyone's in Norton and Bradley. It seemed he was standing, the four fingers of each hand in the back pockets of his jeans, all pain and illness nonexistent in this time. For a moment, he paused, a thoughtful look on his face, eying the girl curiously. She stopped her stride when realizing she had been talking to herself for the most part, and then walking by herself, tossing a glance over her shoulder with an arched brow.

"Wot's your problem, Niccals?" a smug chime broke through his thoughts, clear as a bell and firm as ever, "Ain't ever seen a girl before?"

His eyes trailed over her body, replaying the question in his mind. The girl wasn't unhealthy, he'd give her that, and she wasn't all that chubby either. She fit in all the right places a growing woman her age should, and he wasn't complaining any. Her chest was strapped with a hot pink spaghetti tank, not entirely the right size for her body, obviously fitted perhaps four years ago when she had first bought it, an army green men's jacket covering her shoulders and rolled at the sleeves, stopping at the middle of her biceps. To make sure this stayed put, she had tied a yellow bandana on each arm to keep the sleeves from unrolling themselves as they often did.

Proper size was rare when buying at second hand shops, mostly proved in the acid washed jeans she wore, however not so big as the jacket. They hung slightly loose at the hips and baggy the rest down, perhaps if she had looped a belt, though it not seemed to bother her any. For the most part, it was considered 'in' for that time, which made it all the better. Poking out from beneath the bottom folds were a dirty pair of Chuck Taylors, the most popular of the converse brand, the left nodding against the concrete. He looked up to her face once more, remembering the four necklaces teasingly hanging above or beyond her breasts, one of bright blue beads, one of golden orange, one of bright green, and a black rosary with a silver chain and cross. Her arm nestled within the other, her fingers strumming with a lack of patience, making a swift rainbow with her chipped multicolored nails, and as her head tilted to the side, so did her pyramid shaped earrings, the right nearly poking her shoulder, the second and third sets merely studs.

"Uh...wot were yeh sayin'?" he asked absentmindedly, lifting his left hand to ruffle his shaggy locks. His fingers sank into a vibrant sea of a black mane, nearly tickling his own shoulders and surely blinding his vision, to his surprise not greasy in the least. Oh, that's right...he had washed the mop when he had woken up, unable to breathe and sleep in his own sweat bath any longer. And his voice was almost foreign to him, a cleaned up version of his normally gruff and grainy tone...a good twenty-seven or so years shaven off from his lungs. Dusting his hand off on his shirt, he glanced down at himself, the view so strange to him...but then it wasn't. His body had toned out for its natural build, the beer belly never there to begin with, his skin a far better shade than the one he knew of, and his nails actually hugging his fingertips.

He wore a tattered grey tee with the word 'BLACK SABBATH' heavily and messily scrawled in permanent marker, sleeves ripped, though not viewable due to the leather jacket he was sporting, silver zippers five inches apart from one another throughout the blazer, the inside lining a wine red, lined with studs as the flaps pulled out towards the teen's neck. Hanging from his own neck was something he liked to call the cannonball chain, a silver series containing an inch round ball every three knots of silver; three silver rings perched snuggly on his fingers, two on the left and one on the right. He looped his thumb into his tight acid ripped jeans, both knees fully visible as well as a few extra bullet holes. The bottom part of his leg was submerged into a pair of exposed steel toe combat boots, the very tips glittering the sun's rays. The young man looked off to his right, reading the street sign off in the corner they had just passed.

Mallorie Road.

"You asked me about Dio breakin' from Sabbath? 'ow I felt about it?" her voice knocked back into his ears once again.

The Brit's eyes popped and a small smile perked along his lips, all knowledge of anything future or past forgotten, "Oh, right. So, like I wos sayin', when the 'ell are they gunna stop bootin' everyone? Personally, I rather fancied the idea of Ozzy as the frontman, yeah?" Shoving his hands into his jacket's main pockets, he began to walk at an even pace once more, ignoring the previous delay that no longer existed. The girl beside him rolled her eyes, huffing a bit of warm air into her hands. Autumn was typically chilly in the area of Stoke-On-Trent, and Mother Nature did not supply any favors. Shrugging, the seventeen year old sniffed, stuffing her own hands away for safe keeping, "I dunno...I kinda fancied Dio meself..." she quickly leaned her head right, knowing the loud fit the boy was going to throw. Hair fluffing out from the shake, the music obsessed boy snorted, angling his neck back to reveal the brown aviator shades perched neatly on his nose. "Yeh fuckin' would." he muttered, both knowing he meant nothing by it.

He still, however, received a brutal punch in the arm by the smirking teen, ducking out of the way before he could retaliate and pulled him into a headlock, roughly scrambling her fingers within his tresses, "An' you! When are you gunna get a haircut, yeh fuckin' Beatle? Yo' hair's shaggier than Lennon's wos." Popping his head from her grip, the sixteen-year-old Murdoc Nicalls shoved her off, though not nearly as roughly had it been his brother. Adjusting his sunglasses, the boy dusted himself off, a grin of his own forming secretly, "Sod off, would yeh? Lennon wos all right. An' anyways, loads o' blokes are growin' it out." The buildings along the sidewalk began to vary in heights, a couple bearing stoops that the teens had to avoid crashing into while shoving between talks. The leaves swirled up and around them, adding sound to the chill of winter's tease and silencing just as quickly.

It was the best time of year. Not that anyone looked forward to school, but it was the easiest juncture to falsely claim some illness concerning the nose or chest cavity, and public schools who didn't hear much from the student's parents didn't particularly care for the student themselves..._especially_ with the title of Murdoc Niccals. All faculty despised the name, and the one attached to it, even more so. He was a bright boy; none could deny him the label; but, when it came to education in a subject he simply didn't care for, out came the rude insults, the desire for attention he obviously lacked in the household, the annoying and utmost random sounds whenever a teacher sat, or spoke, or did anything remotely close to instructing a class their lesson. It was something Weslee (or 'Weevil' as the delinquent liked to call her) Gunther accepted him for, and he vise versa.

Neither was any proud of the family they were spawned from, Weslee least of all. She knew nothing of the past that had brought her into this world, only of the homes she had been forced into, government run of course. Horror stories were best known as tales of tragedies woven into fiction, but the girl knew better. They were generated from the damaged souls of orphaned children who lived through the hells of demonic abuse, neglect, and exploitation, all in favor of the fiscal incentive. They were ignored and threatened, fearful for their lives with no one to turn to for protection. They were unaided without statement, and silenced in the shadows they survived in. But worst of all, they were trapped.

Her minty green eyes lingered on the lad's face, a rare gentle smile stationary for just a moment. His focus was ahead of them, unaware of the memories he was holding in those few seconds. She could remember the fear...how she jumped down from the half lidded window, struggling to keep her backpack safely strapped on her shoulder, filled to the brim with stolen snacks and her own clothing. She could remember the scents...a cold end to an autumn day, night washing over her with the aroma of frost and dying plants. Her eyes shifted from the left to the right as she ducked into an alleyway, keeping close to the elongated darkness that the buildings provided. By then, she had lost her sense of time, the streetlights of the neighborhood buzzing long after her completed eleventh block. She was frozen to the bone without shelter from the serrated winds, teeth unable to hold their chattering, skin slowly toning a bluish color. Her nostrils held the scent of ice...it was not something she could explain or describe...but she felt and understood it. It was the smell of bitter winter edging on...and her body could no longer handle it.

This registered her into survival mode, darting as quickly and quietly as she could, slipping between two buildings before another nasty gush of wind could catch up. It was cramped, but manageable. She glanced up, chest pounding, noting that the window above her was slightly out of reach. A light was on, washing a faded yellow orange across the bricks in front of her, however shadows neither passed nor lingered. Swallowing hard, she searched her vicinity, finding a metal garbage bin adjacent to her hiding spot a few feet over, its cap set neatly on top. She decided it would make the perfect boost, sliding the metal across the dirt directly below the sill, doing her best to balance on her knees first, then grab the cement ledge as she carefully lifted her feet in a crouched position. Her eyes winced as she glanced in, praying that no one would catch her or be mirroring her movements, for the shock could possibly render her into a critical fall...but no one was there.

The room was mostly empty, save the two beds on either side of the small dorm, a wooden nightstand directly in front of her with a lamp on top (missing its lampshade for some strange reason), and a few sneakers and boots scattered across the floor. In an open closet on the left the girl could make out a couple of records piled on the floor, and a few shirts hanging up, most of which were heaped on top of the tower of albums. And (to her benefit)...the door was closed. Feeling somewhat of a relief, the ten year old's eyes trailed on the blockade before her. What were the odds that the window was unlocked? After a few desperate tries, she rubbed her frost-swollen hands against her pants, sighing ruggedly. So much for an easy way in...

Her eyes wandered to the lock in the center of the windowpane, making a note of the rust along the handle of the bolt, licking the top of her lip. Double-checking the security of her balance (and the stillness of the door), the girl punched at the window's frame, ducking and nearly losing her stability off the trash bin. Peeking up, she discovered the room to be undisturbed and repeated her action, each more desperate than the last. Fourth time around the panel appeared loose, giving the young one a final chance of hope. Using all her strength, she pressed up on the glass, digging her nails into the slight lip the rubber bottom had.

_Chink! _

The small piece of metal shot across the room and out of mind, giving her free access to a warm refuge if she could managed to keep quiet when whoever owned the room came back. First thing to drop in was her bag, thumping on the floor beside the bed on the right. She struggled a bit as she lifted herself in, but it was nothing compared to the overbearing warmth inside the apartment's bedroom. As soon as her feet touched the wooden floor, she shut the window, warming herself against the dangerously sizzling radiator. It was one thing she pinned on the place aside from the lack of furniture...well to do areas controlled their own heat. The underprivileged didn't.

Well, runaways couldn't be choosers.

Rubbing her nose, the girl slowly shoved her belongings under the bed that was barren underneath. The bed on the opposite side housed more piles of records as well as a record player and an aluminum bat, all shoved beneath messily so. Shivering a bit, the child crawled under and removed the bat, stocking it in her chosen spot alongside her bag. One could _never_ be too careful, especially in a complete stranger's home. Her eyes widened as a voice suddenly exploded through the cardboard thin walls, diving under the bed as soon as the door was kicked open, a body about her size hurled across the floor. The hands and feet of this young body spider crawled backwards, back thudding against the nightstand as their hands curled over their head.

"You fuckin' stay in 'ere! Got it? I 'ave company over an' you don't _exist_. If you need the washroom, yeh piss out the fuckin' window. Don't come out till _tomorrow_. I ain't repeatin' myself again."

The door slammed louder than it had been kicked open, and what appeared to be a grubby little boy winced, apparently refusing to cry. His jaw was clenched as tight as could go, fistfuls of hair tugged at in boiling anger. In a wretched huff, he stood and kicked off his sneakers, pulling off his socks and leapt on his bed. The springs crunched above the girl, releasing a cloud of dust that had never been tended to, to rain upon her in full force, burning her eyes and clogging her nose. Capping her face in horror, she remained silent as the night, roughly rubbing at her dust sensitive areas with the sleeves of her hood, although that did no better. The entire square area underneath that mattress now filmed a complete layer of powdered grey, the girl's outline mimicking a chalk layout. She swallowed harshly, refusing a cough to give away her position. Quietly, she shoved her face into her arms, slowly deep breathing to push the pain in her nose away. She had come too far to be caught now...not to mention the negative effects of being caught.

Her eyes began to tear, taking care of themselves since she had not done a decent job of a cleansing. A far away sigh spooked her after a moment of silence, forgetting that she was not only hiding, but also now sharing a room with another life form.

Her heart sank every time the mattress above shifted, and her stomach jumped whenever he made a sound...for how long, she couldn't say. The wait seemed endless. Fear began to creep into her nerves, body throwing out spasms every time she soundlessly stretched out a cramping limb. For twenty minutes at least, she merely focused on everything from her perspective, memorizing how many albums were underneath the other bed, how many were in the closet, how many socks were on the floor, and which sneakers had matching pairs...she entertained herself to near slumber, eye lids lowering without warning before popping up again with the same haunting thought that she would be found. When the boy's foot stepped down from the bed, her voice luckily managed to stay cooped up in her throat, the shock spooking her into silence. The girl's body curled back against the wall as the stranger stood on his toes, a food stained shirt soon messily discarded alongside him. Apparently he was changing and stretching all at the same time, a deed the young voyager could only envy. A short grunt escaped him as he wrestled into a baggier tee, kicking his soiled clothing into the mountain within the closet.

Her eyes never left his feet, padding along carelessly and dangerously close while fumbling with bed sheets and the like, lifting up once again, and once more, another weary sigh. Hopefully, the boy would fall asleep and she would be able to sneak out in the morning when all were out. If she were to escape during his sleep, she would no doubt be caught. "_Well, this wos genius._" she crudely thought, doing her best to snuggle up within her arms. Hard floors were supposed to be good for the back and such, but in all honesty she would have rathered a nice firm bed than a hard wooden floor. Releasing a bit of pent up air, the girl closed her eyes, silently yawning while she curled in tightly. Furrowing her brows, she decided her bag could do as some cushion, pulling one of the belts towards her.

Her eyes widened in terror when she realized that the other strap was in the grip of another hand...

...and it wasn't hers.

Within seconds, the young boy's head had swung upside down to peer under in curiosity, assuming a stray animal had broken in, or something along the lines of that...but nothing close to what was actually residing under his bed. His eyes grew and shrunk as fast as the message had registered, momentarily speechless for his miraculous find, but he wasn't the type to be silenced for long. One brow rose as high as could possibly lift, the opposite eye wincing in completely confusion while his mouth popped open, revealing a very peculiar set of teeth, but nonetheless, somewhat normal for the cesspool they lived in. In both self defense and reaction to her own shock, the girl's mind could only comprehend one action, and therefore act upon it.

Her body slid horizontal compared to the bed's outline in an instant, her leg firing out with all the force she could congregate, sending a brutal and merciless punt into the lad's unsuspecting mug. The rest of him harshly tumbled off the mattress, head knocking against the wood, his body a lifeless mass on the floor. Heart racing at her reaction, the stowaway capped her mouth, wondering if she had done anything seriously erroneous. Swallowing hard, she pulled herself out from her hiding spot, giving herself a quick shake before peering over the soundless lump. Her fingers twitched as her hand neared and reclined a few times, finally positioning him to face the ceiling, realizing he had a bit of a bloody nose, but otherwise seemed...unconscious. She didn't mean to _hurt_ the boy...she was merely protecting herself, was all.

Rubbing her cheek down to her neck, she eyed the shirt he had discarded earlier, plucking it from the closet floor mess and, somewhat reluctantly, held it to his nose, pinching the bridge. Bloody noses were nothing new to her. It was all part of the survival game. If anyone wanted a decent _anything_ in a group home, one was expected to hold their own. She quickly dropped to her knees, gently lifting his head at a slight angle in her lap to avoid him suffocating in his own blood. He appeared to be breathing...he would be fine. Just a bit sore. Making sure not to touch the bloodied parts of the cloth, she carefully folded the homemade medical tool and tossed it back towards the closet, daring herself to check his mouth. The top lip seemed a bit swollen. Apparently her foot nearly took off half of the boy's face from the lip up. Wincing with jitters, she nervously pulled his mouth open, peeking in with a closed eye. Nothing was bleeding there. Shaking her head, she rested him back down, wondering what to do now. Someone was bound to come for him...

Well...she thought about the words that had burst into the room along with him.

"_Don't come out till tomorrow._"

A small, coy smile played on her lips. She had gotten away with murder, in the figurative sense, and could almost dance around his lifeless body like one to a sacrifice. Perhaps she would be up and out before the lad woke from his knock back into last year. Dusting herself off more seriously, the young one sighed, stretching all the kinks from her body that had gathered over the time she spent crunched in the same position. It was a wonder how she managed to find herself face first on the wooden paneled floor, arms pulled back as if she were a bull prize of some kind.

"'ew are _you_ an' wot are yeh doin' in my _room_?"

Furrowing her brows, the girl's chocolate brown hair caught in her mouth, eyes glaring ahead that she had been so easily connived. Her plan was simple, pull away as hard as she could and quickly pop the bugger off her back before he knew what was coming. However, he was two steps ahead of her, crossing her arms behind her back, pulling them hard, limbs utterly useless to the girl as the pain twisted and numbed her from the waist, up. "G-Get off me!" she hissed, trying to lift her head higher than two inches off the floor, but the more he pulled, the more difficult the task proved to be. Leaning his weight to the side, the raggedy, shaggy haired little boy pressed his lips near her ear, a dark, yet curious tune in his question, "Wot were yeh doin' under my bed?"

The answer he was expecting didn't come. It was a split second of silence, and then a rough flip, finding himself pinned against the floor, with the break-in using herself as the weight. A triumphant smirk dawned on the girl's pale face, pulling the boy's shock off his face into words. Obviously no one had ever done that to him before. "First rule in the homes," she sneered, pressing more weight on his wrists than necessary, "Never lean if you expect to win." Puffing his cheeks, the gritty boy returned his own grin, popping his pelvis unexpectedly and throwing her forward into a flip. She rubbed her head, doing her best to blink away the disorientation, but she didn't need to second-guess what the mass on top of her was. "I fight wit me brother _everyday_. I don't need no advice from some sewer rat." A rare fire sparked within her, unable to relax herself or tone it down. She needed to win this, tooth and claw...no one was going to insult her and get away with it. With all the energy she had, she shot her left leg straight up, right between the boy's most sensitive area, and with a gagging, winded cough, she was free. She didn't need much else effort to have him where she wanted him. Her fingers wrapped around his neck as she pounced on him, nails gripping him and squeezing dangerously close, nose shoved against his, "_Wot_ did you call me?"

Without realizing it, she had already cut off his air, teeth clenched in anger as she glared daggers into his soul. He could only try to pry her fingers off, but her added weight on his chest gave him no mercy to expand his lungs either way. The world around him was going wooly, unable to keep stable much longer. Suddenly, he was released, both weight and strain, gasping for air like a fish out of water, incapable to focus on much else. His left hand reached for his neck, about to massage the claw marks away before it was wrenched away from him, all his weight dragged out with that one limb. His lids batted furiously, noting everything had turned a shade darker before the girl was on top of him once again, her hand capped over his mouth. Spots finally fading away, he glared up at her, however she paid him no mind. She had somehow hauled him into her hiding spot under his bed, and with her pinning him, there wasn't much space for either of them to move. The mattress was easily fastening her against him, and him against the floor. But why had she positioned them like this in the first place?

_Thunk...thunk...thunk...thunk..._

Furrowing his brows, the young lad glanced to his left (the only direction he could really look) and listened.

_Thunk...thunk..._

A victorious grin mulled under the girl's hand. Hannibal was home.

A sneering snort forced the girl to glance back at him from her lookout, a speck of annoyance meshed within fear, and her nails grazed against his cheek in warning. His body did its best to wriggle out from under her, but that only made things more awkward than vehemently so. Using her free hand, she pinched his ear, pulling it out a bit and rested her chin against his cheek with a growl, "If you make a sound, I'll _rip_ yo' throat out." Releasing the boy's ear with a flick of early punishment, she lifted her neck up once more, finding the position painful as well as tasteless, which flustered her greatly. She'd be damned if this little twerp was going to ruin her chances of escape. They were nearly nose to nose, she and this stranger of a boy who looked no older than eight or nine, hair thicker than a mane, but dryer than straw. It was no wonder it crowded his chubby little face with those freakish eyes, though she had to admit, they _were_ a bit neat. People had always admired her glowing green orbs, for reasons she couldn't understand. She thought they made her look a bit spooky, resembling that of headlights on a car in a dark cavern.

He was using those fascinating eyes to glare back at her with reason, but she couldn't allow further discovery. His reddened nose scrunched a bit, sniffling in blame, and her hand soon felt a soft, slimy lump running all about her palm just as the door opened up, or rather, was kicked open. The girl's shoulders lurched at the sound, all sense of the term luster fading back into a meek child. It seemed doorknobs were just for show in this household. Heavy clunking boots trailed along the floor, low grumbling and a belch accompanying this. A black much loved duffle bag dragged on behind him until he stopped pulling at the edge of his bed, the strap thudding against the floor lightly. The two watched the thumping pair lug back towards the door, one lifting to boot it shut. Glancing off for a moment, the girl blandly narrowed her eyes. It appeared she had walked in on a bunch of savages. She half expected them to only have bananas and cigarettes as meals.

The one beneath her yanked his head from left to right, furiously trying to rid her grip on his mouth, but to no avail. Shoving her free hand on his throat, she glared at him, bearing her silent snarl quite well. The pressure on his neck was enough to get him still, a snorting growl escaping him, and unexpectedly to them both, through her hand. The two stared at each other in surprise before the eldest of the room suddenly kicked at his metal bed frame, "Oh, shut the fuck up! I ain't about teh 'ear that all night long!" he snapped, slamming his foot back down. Both jumped in his reaction, but the young girl closed her eyes in short-lived relief. He obviously misunderstood the sound, and, for the moment being, she was still safe. A phlegm filled snort echoed throughout the nearly empty room, his hands reaching down to pick up his bag and unzip it, sorting through whatever treasures he had in there.

Her eyes lingered on her prisoner for a moment, and she could feel him smile under her hand. Furrowing her brows, she slightly arched one, wondering what he could possibly be thinking. A quiet hum escaped his throat and into the silence, alarming her. He didn't _need_ his mouth open to make a sound, since the rest of him was pretty much pinned. Giving his throat a slight squeeze, her eyes threatened him, however, as pinned as his arms might have been, he was now free to move his hands, quickly pinching her sides roughly. If he couldn't make noise, then he would make _her_ give away their position. The two's mini (and restricted) spat was shortly silenced, "Wot the fuck is this?"

They froze, turning their heads in unison as a thick hand reached down dangerously close. The girl tensed up, shoving her neck inwards and down, burying her cheek within the boy's hair, and the closer the hand got, the tighter her grip on the younger one became. Closing her eyes in fear, she trembled from her nerves, but the touch never came.

"That little thievin' twit...when I get me 'ands on 'im..."

A long metallic scratch reverberated off the floor under the bat she had taken and stored for protection until it was finally lifted up by the hands of its owner. A few skin tapped thuds followed, "Kid 'as some balls touchin' my bat...I'll give 'im that..." A few blankets flew across towards the door, taken in one swing from the bed they were hiding under. "Murdoc? You in 'ere?" a few steps backed up towards the closet. A rough swing knocked against the slated doors, "Yo' fuckin' dead, mate!" The body under her twitched for a moment, but according to the look on his face, it was infuriation. The bat dragged along behind the hefty boots, tapping three times as if to wait for a sign of life before walking towards the window, "Looks like the lock finally broke...ah, well. Not like we 'ave anythin' worth nickin' anyways." A scratch against the table...most likely the lamp's movement.

One foot lifted up, thudding as it rested against the nightstand and the window's slide notably squeaked, notifying the younger brother that the eldest was going to escape on another one of his midnight runs and wouldn't be back until possibly noon the next day. Eyes widening, the scruffy little boy managed a cough, immediately reprimanded for his disobedience. A quick throttle rectified his action, however, it halted the leaving sibling, glancing over his shoulder half expecting his domineering father to be standing in the doorway, pretending to give a rat's ass that his son was sneaking off somewhere without notice, but alas, to his thrilling disappointment, no one was there. The sound must've come from someone walking past the alleyway. The idea pulled a foul grin on the teen's face. Perhaps this person had some extra cash. Tightening his grip on his bat, his other foot lifted off the ground, readying himself to jump down on the garbage can below.

Realizing it was his last chance to make himself noticed, the youngest glared at her daringly, lifting his chin in defiance. Shaking her head as if to say 'don't you dare', his attacker squeezed his cheeks tightly, but the little one nodded with the face of a broiled puffer fish, painfully wrenching his face from her grip and opening his mouth wide to inhale all the oxygen he could gather in his lungs. Widening her glowing green eyes, the girl scrambled her mind in the milliseconds she had. Fully choking him would come off as a hacking wheeze with all the lung power he was assembling, covering his mouth wouldn't do squat at this point, and biting his shoulder or clawing his face would result in throbbing screams. Wincing with a short prayer, she wasted no time silencing the boy before he could start.

The first thought that entered her mind was simply peanut butter and bananas with a hint of root beer and a faded tinge of salt. She nearly gagged.

A rumbling clang banged from outside followed by quick fading thuds, the lad's only form of help disappearing into the darkness. Within seconds, she abandoned her hiding spot, barely caring if the threat had fully gone yet. "Ugh!" she groaned, clawing her way out and across the room, wiping her mouth with the sleeve of her shirt, giving it occasional licks from pure disgust, "Anyone ever taught yeh 'ow teh wash out yo' mouth?" Hissing at the figure making his way out from under the bed, she picked at the lower half of her face, unsatisfied with the lack of sanitization she was forced to use. He on the other hand slowly stood, dusting himself off while eying the girl in a dark manner. His arm slowly lifted until the back of his hand scraped against his mouth, glancing down at it before peering up at the girl.

She ignored him for a good while until her fury died down for just a moment, glaring out at his curious mug. Without them attacking each other, she could finally pin a good height on him, which wasn't much to say for himself. He was a good two inches shorter than her and a bit stocky from his lingering baby fat, with a grubby type of appearance that couldn't seem to be washed away no matter how hard anyone tried. His face and neck were glowing red from her handprints as well as his nose, resembling that Rudolph character in holiday books. She sized him up for a moment with a bladed stare, wiping her mouth quickly once more, annoyed by the fact that he was staring at her with an occasional blink, but nothing more, almost as if his innocence was slowly taking place before her.

Furrowing his brows with a wince, he leaned forward a bit, "'ew _are_ you?"

"None business o' yo's!" she snapped, receiving a foul glare. "Yo' in _my_ house." he griped back as the two began to circle each other, "You were under _my_ bed. 'ew are you and why are yeh in my house 'idin' under me bed?" Clenching her teeth, the girl growled. She didn't need to take this from some snot nosed little bugger. "I already told yeh, none business o' _yo's_." she scoffed, suddenly tackled against the wall. The gritty little one jabbed his shoulder into her chest, glaring up. "Get offa me!" the intruder barked, doing her best to shove him off, but apparently wedging himself between her and the floor seemed to keep him steady. "Or else wot? Yeh'll _kiss_ me again?" he writhed, the look of the memory twisting within his gut. Using her left arm to push him by his face, she slid out roughly, crossing her arms in disgust, "Please. It wos the only way teh shut you up! I tasted the bloody _lunch_ yeh 'ad today!" Her body cringed in delay to the fact. Glowering at his confused expression, she fixed her shirt and dusted her pants, "Sides, wot are yeh, like seven?"

"I'm nine!" he snapped angrily, sensitive about the reality that only he seemed to care about his own life facts. His fury only ignited further when she added, "Yeh look five."

"An' you look like a whore!"

The girl's eyes popped as the little one seethed her presence, shoulders rising in shallow pants, fingers curled into the tightest fists possible. He was already the runt of his family. He wouldn't dare let another denounce him further. "Now, you tell me wot yo' name is or I swear I'll turn yeh over teh my dad, an' then yeh'll _really_ be in trouble! 'e don't like _nobody_, an' much less someone breakin' in teh pinch our stuff. 'e'll use the belt an' pipe on yeh an' beat yeh till yeh can't move. An' 'e'll tell the coppers that it was all in self defense!" the boy announced, strangely as if this speech had been instilled in him from the past. Rubbing her face, the young girl sighed loudly, glancing to the side worriedly. She wouldn't be able to keep this up forever...and the boy's father did appear to be a bit brutal...as well as his brother. In all honesty, she was lucky to have only been discovered by the youngest child. He wasn't scary at all, although he wasn't stupid either.

Glancing at him grimly, the girl muttered a, "Weslee Gunther." under her breath, crossing her arms with a rub. The boy's face fell from defensive to a tease, "Tha's a boy's name." She would've rathered nothing more than to throttle him once again, but he seemed to have learned his lessen, backing up as soon as he made the comment by at least three steps. "Yeh don't act like a girl, neither." he smirked with a sly smile, "Maybe you ain't one."

"Then you just kissed a boy." she stated smartly, watching in pleasure as his smugness died immediately. She had obviously won the match, much to the boy's dismay, for his comebacks were close to none compared to that. Narrowing his glare, he easily snorted, "Wotever...why are you in my 'ouse?" The girl cracked her fingers, glancing off to the side of this unfortunate obstacle. He was blocking the way to the window, and purposely so, edging his body in whichever way she tilted hers. Although he did find her defensive tactics a bit impressive...for a _girl_...he didn't find her threatening at all. Merely...desperate. Giving a grim stare, her eyes trailed around to the side, not entirely proud of her reasons. A fragment of silence chilled the room, "I...I need a safe place to stay. For the night." she ended offly, eyes popping and brows raising when the foul tempered runt burst into a riot of mocking laughter, shaking his head in near pity.

"_Safe_? You need a safe place? Yo' better off in a trash bin outside. Go back 'ome." he scoffed, jetting his thumb behind him. Slowly lowering her brows, Weslee glanced around quietly, feeling a bit out of place. Choosing to stay reserved for the time being, she observed the fuzzy moptop walk to her left and gather up the mess of blankets his brother had so viciously thrown earlier, dumping them back on his bed with a few pats to rid the footprint Han had left behind. With a sigh similar to the one she had heard him release before discovery, he gently pulled the lamp to the center of the nightstand, bathing the room in even light, glimpsing at her for a split second as if to reassure she hadn't been a figment of his imagination. "Still 'ere?" he asked brusquely, but quietly, a curious facade pulled on his features. Feeling an awkward lump in her belly, the girl rubbed the back of her neck before fumbling with the loose threads of her shirt, avoiding eye contact. Asking was ten thousand times harder than stealing, that's for sure.

"...I've...nowhere teh go."

Brows furrowing in disbelief, the boy shrugged it off as nothing. "Go 'ome." he pointed out disdainfully, lifting himself on his mattress.

"Don't '_ave_ one. I'm part of a group '_ome_. Its not 'ome. I don't know wot a 'ome _is_. I've never '_ad_ one." she snapped, hoping the explanation would shoo the fellow off her private life. He was quiet for a moment, she thinking he was taking her words into consideration, when she realized he was lifting her bag with his foot to pull it out from under the bed. Launching herself at him, she wrestled with him for a maximum of thirty seconds, finally wrenching it from his grip and clasping it to her chest like lock and key. No one was going to take all she had left. No one.

Those double colored eyes were glaring at her, a bit ticked that he had been caught, but a look of desire lusting on a face much to young to understand it, "Wot's in that bag? Yeh seem awful attached." Holding it tighter, she backed a few steps, keeping her distance from the boy. "My _things_ are in it."

"...Nice things?"

"Nothing _you'd_ want." she hissed, turning her back on him. Brushing off the cold shoulder, the shaggy haired boy began to pick at his toes, keeping an occasional eye on the girl. He couldn't remember a time when someone his age had socialized with him for that long. In school he was known as a class clown of sorts, but popularity only went so far with that. And aside from it all, his personality was one to be reckoned with. It took some kind of saint (or demon) to be friends with a child like him. Of course, that could be said for all Niccals men of the household. Though, he would never want any to share the same fate as he. The boy knew _that_ was beyond cruelty...beyond selfishness...beyond hell itself.

Pulling a knee up to his chest, he slightly rested his face against the side of it, talking to the floor rather than to his visitor, "You ain't safe 'ere...no one is..."

Lifting a brow at his sudden change in tone, Weslee glanced over her shoulder and slightly twisted her body, cautious of his drastic personality switch. He looked over at her for a moment, eyes dropping still. "Me dad's a nut. I wosn't lyin' when I told yeh wot 'e'd do. An' me brother's a bit mental when 'e wants to be. If I were you, I'd 'ead back to wotever place wos watchin' me an' stay there. Least yeh 'ave a chance teh get someone decent...m'dad's the bloody devil." he grunted, standing to his feet. A strange look of discomfort meshed on his face until it passed, eying her pack and ignoring his past statement.

"This comin' from someone 'ew's been stuck 'ere 'is whole life. Yeh don't know anythin' about bein' in the 'omes. Least in yo' case, you can memorize the danger signs of yo' dad and know when teh 'ide or run."

"'ere's no runnin' from 'im. Yeh'd be _stupid_ to." the boy snarled, "That's a deadman's walk."

"Fine! Wotever. 'e's yo' dad, not mine."

"I'd rather 'e wosn't." The tone seemed to darken to almost chill, and the two said nothing more on the topic, the girl clutching her bag tighter, doing her best to cram it into her body. Her hips swayed a bit to pass the awkward silence, twitching as thuds similar to footsteps echoed just outside the door. She jumped away from the exit, bathed in darkness with a swift click from behind. "Get under an' be _quiet_!" the little Brit hissed, yanking her down and nearly kicking her to get a move on. His shorter body swam in the shadows, perching himself on his bed without a sound. The two barely breathed as they kept an ear out for anything out of the ordinary (though she wasn't as professional as the boy was), and a gentle click further away gave him the signal that he wouldn't be bothered with. Most likely a bathroom break, of sorts.

A whistled sigh broke the silence from above, his face swinging upside down mirroring the way they had met not too long ago. "Yo' lucky. When 'e's really drunk, 'e comes breakin' down the door."

Giving the boy a disbelieving grimace, Weslee scrunched her nose, "I'm surprised it 'asn't already wit the way you lot treat it!" Pulling herself out just a bit, she pushed his face out of her way, but much more gently than she had when they had been fighting. At this point, he appeared more of an ally than an enemy, though one couldn't be too careful. She rested her bag between her legs, seated on the floor with her legs still hidden under the bed, her head tilted back with her arms supporting her. It seemed to be a rule to stay away from the dangerous being the boy called a father. A quick hiccupped burp broke her thoughts, pulling a lazy arched brow from her unimpressed mug, however this action reminded the child of a question he had been meaning to ask. Pushing himself back on his belly to rest his chin on his mattress, the two tone eyed boy merely pointed at her bag, leaning up a bit, "Yeh got any food on yeh?" Her hands protectively pressed on the bag in case he felt like nicking it under her nose, "Only a few sweets..."

"Lemme 'ave at some. Yeh got any caramels or taffies? Regular chocolate, not that dark nasty rubbish." he demanded with a growl, extending his fingers out to hook the strap loop. Giving his hand a good smack, she barked back, "Wot do I look like to you? A bloody diner lady 'ere teh serve yo' stomach's every whim? Come off it, duck." Hopping off his bed, the Niccals boy roughly prodded her shoulder, not caring how hard he was doing it. As much as this girl liked to boil his anger till no end, she had something that was useful to him. Perhaps he would be able to convince her with a little simple negotiation. He might have been the youngest, but Murdoc Niccals was no fool. He could always get what he wanted...if he put his mind to it.

"Listen, you." he grunted as she stood to her taller height, but it made no difference to him, "I'll 'ave you know yo' under _my_ bed at the moment an' in this 'ome, an' its the only bed you'll wantin' to be stayin' under. I'll make a deal wit yeh." he stated slowly, making sure she was hanging on every word. Her defensive anger was dying down, but only a bit, "I'm listenin'."

A small grin perked on his lips, "You give me 'alf o' wot you got in food, an' I'll 'ide yeh best I can. But you gotta stay shut. If you ruin it, that's on you."

"'_alf!_"

"Oy, I coulda said all, darlin'." the boy pointed out with a sinister touch to a striving innocent smirk, rocking on his heels with his arms behind him. Snarling at the little devil, the girl snorted, regrettably knowing this was the best deal out of all choices she had. Even at her age, she had come to learn that nothing in life was free, especially room and board...even if she was sleeping on the boards of a room. Besides, she was sure she could gather up food if she ever really needed to. Stealing was second nature for one who roamed from home to home. Pretty and useful things became hers, and all was used sparingly.

Biting down on her bottom lip, she bumped him from her path and set the bag gently on the bed, hovering over at all times to prevent him from throwing himself on the stash. He made no motion, however, to even reach over, watching like a desperate dog awaiting its master's throw, the ball its only care. Her hand carefully pulled at the zippers, tugging out a spare hood, a few candies falling out from the folds, and as she expected he dove for them. As soon as in his grip, he leapt on the bed, placed them in a small pile, and gave her a monotonous glance, quite bored with the time she was taking, for what reason, he couldn't fathom. His impatience overtook the rest of his self control, yanking the bag from her and dumping all the contents before she could reprimand him in the harshest of ways. "Wot is yo' problem? I wanted to keep things neat and you just screwed it all up!" she snapped, gathering any belongings that weren't sugary snacks. Ignoring the cold tones, the boy tilted his head, taking in the fact that the pile before him was real and somewhat wondered how this unusual girl managed to get so much. Patting his hands on his shirt, he daintily pieced a pile for himself and a pile for his "guest", keeping true to his word. That was one thing _he_ had learned about life. There were always ways to twist and turn arrangements to benefit the dealer...but when it all came down to it, an honored word was a respected word...and that was something Murdoc wanted more than anything in the world.

Cross legged and cheek propped in hand, the young girl watched as she slowly sat on the bed herself, tiredly hooked on those eyes that rocked back and forth...back and forth...back and forth....never faltering from the treasures before them. Hugging her bag snuggly, she had to fight her way to stay awake, the silence of the room strangely comforting and warm, although she had no reason to find it so, aside from the literal sense. Rubbing an eye, she glanced down at her pile, somewhat happy that the rugrat was keeping his deal true. "Stole this from where you were at?" he suddenly quirked, sending an uncomfortable shock through her chest. Furrowing her brows, she blinked a bit, nodding with a slight yawn. "Lady 'ad a jar full...so I emptied it in m' bag. Wos the only thing I could reach easy witout makin' too much noise." she ended quietly, pulling her sleeves over her hands. The boy's fingers wiggled a bit before snagging the last piece for himself, finally looking up at her first, then to various points in his room.

The best way to hide such a keep as candy were as so: cleverly place a few in certain areas. That way if Hannibal were to ever find some, he wouldn't be taking it all, as he very well would do without second thought. Grabbing a handful each, Murdoc shoved some under and inside his pillow, between his mattress, in a few of his pant and shirt pockets, and finally his own pockets, opening a mini candy bar as he sat back down and chowed to his heart's content, savoring every gentle touch his tongue could possibly caress until the food dissipated. Opening a second one, he glanced up at the girl pouring her leftovers back into her pack, "An' don't think I won't keep an eye on yeh. I know 'ow much I put in each spot."

Rolling her eyes, Weslee zipped up her bag and shoved it under the bed, "I'm not gunna take anythin'. Not like you 'ave anythin' _worth_ takin' anyways." The intended insult merely bounced off the child, a satisfied look pulled on his mug. A small pile of wrappers was beginning to grow on the bed, "Good. But either way, I'm still watchin' out. I don't trust no one." he grunted, grasping the useless papers, lifting the window, and flinging them out into the wind. A snap cracked when he released, spooking the girl, but only for the few seconds it could have on her. "No worries, I trust none, either. None too different about that, between us." she shrugged, scratching her head up top, but slowly stopped when she heard the boy mutter under his breath, "Tha's a flat out lie."

"Callin' me a liar?" she growled, stepping up to him like a teased guard hound, fist raised in threat. He only arched a brow. Tossing taffy under his tongue, the moptop cracked his neck, "You trust _me_." She lowered her fist, but her glare continued in question. The small boy slipped off from leaning on the nightstand and made his way over to the closet, digging between the clothing, "You trust me teh keep my mouth shut while yeh take a night in my room. You trusted me teh keep my promise over the equal share. You 'ave no _choice_ but to trust me." A vicious little smile perked on him, almost as if he were executing his power over her, toying with her psyche. The girl crossed her arms, none too thrilled with his form of self entertainment, and made note not to make deals with demented little nine year olds for future reference. However so, she did owe it to him.

A lump of blanket forced her from her thoughts when it was shoved into her chest, not exactly fresh from the wash, but not soiled either. Letting it unfold itself as she held it out from her, the green eyed girl watched as the youngest of the household tugged a flat bare pillow from his casing, two left with his hidden sweets. Dusting it out a little, he handed it to her, "'ere. If yeh fold it, it'll do. Not much fits down there anyway. An' if yo' covered, Hans won't notice yeh easy if 'e does come back tonight." She looked down at the items in her grasp, the deed so strange to her, she wasn't quite sure what to make of it. Sure, the space under the bed was a requirement, but a sheet and pillow? Thoughtful comfort? That hadn't been part of the deal...

Hugging them close to her body, her eyes wavered, feeling odd and unsure as she finally glanced at the shorter child, he watching her as curiously as she watching him. The air in the room came off awfully tight, neither certain of how much time had actually passed in that shared moment. Glancing back down for a second, she brought herself to say something she hadn't in who knows how long.

"...Thank you."

And in all those little syllables, both understood the intensity intended and the situation that it was required for. And the fact that it needn't be said, but she had said it anyway. A phrase so strange and foreign to her, it felt weird coming out of her mouth, for there was never a need to actually say it, or a reason. And the boy shared in this discomfiture, equally estranged from the words himself, for no one had ever a reason to say so to him for anything whatsoever, and even if he had done so worthy...no one had ever done him the grace. His eyes held an extraordinary touch...an odd, almost, light...even if dimmed at the lowest degree. Shifting from her left to her right, the girl broke the frozen silence, feeling she had had enough unease for the night, and tipped everything to her left arm, knowing she needed sleep sooner than later, and that also true to his word, he was watching every movement she made. Glancing at him for a moment, she broke his almost hypnotized state of mind as she shot her arm out at him, and the light, if any, burned into a glare, slightly wincing when expectant of pain, but it never came.

Instead...a gentle ruffle of his shaggy mane.

His face retired into a blank expression as she wiggled her fingers around playfully before taking them back, still able to catch the blush in that darkness that managed to grow from his pale complexion, "Good night, Murdoc." His awkward silence remained while he watched her throw down her bedding and kick it under, yawning with a slight smirk of her own before descending into the underworld of his bed. He stood idle for a moment before slowly climbing up top, pulling the thin sheets over his body, wearing a mask of calm confusion. When had anyone ever bid him something so simple as a good night? It was the simple things in life that shocked the boy. The simple things.

Resting his cheek along his flattened pillow, the boy drew undecipherable shapes along his blanket with his finger, merely bending his pointer back and around in thought. Or empty thought. Nothing much was actually going on in that quiet skull...strange as it was. Often he couldn't get those voices to shut up, but tonight, they were mute and unwilling to provide their opinions. Wondering why would only leave him without an answer...

Rubbing his nose with the back of his hand, the boy gave his head a coarse ruffled scratch, holding his breath to check if he could identify hers. A small smile perked up on the little one's face. Just barely could he make out anything other than himself. She would be fine. He hoped.

_Assumed_.

That seemed more fitting...appropriate, even. Hoping gave off the illusion of care or something of that nature. Furrowing his brows, he puffed up his cheeks, with a soft snort. He could honestly care _less_. She wasn't a pet, or even like one (much as he had always wanted one, but knew Hannibal would eat it if worst came to worst). Much too wild to be considered tame, but too tame to be considered wild. She was _female_, something made clear long ago, but was rough like a young lad raised in the schoolyards after hours. She was like a tick...or a weevil, even, making her home as precious as her meals and hopping from one to the next. A small smirk followed this thought. Only he could compare hideous bugs to a girl. Seemed school rubbed off on him at some point. Wasn't her name We...We...something. Weevil. That sounded much better anyway. It suited her...that depraved girl who wasn't..._so_ entirely hellion...strange and...somewhat even _likable_ as much as it twisted his gut to think. And surely she couldn't or wouldn't _ever_ be seen as a...friend...

And yet, here he was...staring across at Hannibal's empty bed while an odd, but needy girl slept under his, trusting him with her life as if they had reason to earn any of the other's trust in the first place. Rubbing his eye, a sharp belch escaped him unexpectedly, burning his throat with the taste of chocolate. Patting his chest, the shaggy haired boy swallowed roughly, arching a brow when a hushed, but sarcastic tone answered, "I'm sure they 'ave pills o' somethin' for that, you know." He couldn't help but stifle a chuckle as he rubbed his belly, taking in a deep breath to pull his cover over his shoulder. "Not my fault," he shrugged, closing his eyes with a soft smile, "I 'adn't eaten anythin' since yesterday." It took a good minute for the girl to register the information and claw at her mouth once again.

"Weevil?"

The young woman's brows furrowed in confusion. That's not how she remembered his voice...it was perfect just a few moments ago. A snap across her nose focused her attention, the world growing out from that tiny, empty, warm room to the brighter afternoon colors of Autumn, with an overbearing touch of dank urban dour. The pudgy boy with the big pool ball eyes was no longer...or perhaps just morphed, as years often do to a child. His eyes were still there, no longer covered by the shaded glasses, but were revealed (somewhat with all that hair) with a tinge of curiosity and she could bet her last pound a brow was arched in there. His right hand was perched on her shoulder (when it got there, she hadn't a clue), squeezing tightly, but gently, as if to prevent her from falling over...though that wasn't the case at all. "Weev, yeh awright?"

Her face twisted into a strange uncertainty, not for her own stability, but for her friend's.

Murdoc seldom offered any form of sympathy for anyone, though she was known to get away with a few rare treats here and there...but he looked more hesitant than anything, body close in mutual comfort, but wrong timing. Her eyes lifted, meeting those which held such concern and as if electrocuted, a bright smile greeted him, throwing him completely off. "I'm fine, Muds." she smirked with a rough scruff to his locks, patting his hand with the other, "No worries." His cheeks tightened as his eyes winced, almost observing her for his own judgment, but she merely plucked his hand off, giving it a slight squeeze before throwing it harder than gravity could pull. Sliding her hands into her pockets, she shrugged innocently, nodding him to walk on with her, "It wosn't a seizure. I swear."

Slowly imitating her movement, the young man eased up a bit, though not entirely. It wasn't a fantastic surprise the day they both discovered what a full-blown seizure was like. More like the most horrifying, haunting day of his life. Although it always made a good story later on, prying open the girl's mouth so her bitten tongue wouldn't drown her and using his own fingers as a guard while he hotwired Hannibal's car to speed down to the hospital (because the bastard just never was around when he actually needed him) wasn't exactly a routine Murdoc wanted to grow accustomed to. He did his best that day, but when it all came down to it, he couldn't do much at all...

He couldn't fight this off for her, not that she'd let him (she liked to fight her own battles), though he'd do it in a heartbeat if he could. The only thing he _could_ do was be exceptionally sharp to her behavior so if anything, she wouldn't at least hurt herself anymore than necessary. "'ell, would yeh smile for once in yo' bloody life?"

The Niccals boy blinked awkwardly for a moment, glancing over at her giving him the most jaded look, "I'm the one wit the problem, an' 'ere you are, makin' it yo' own." Scrunching his nose to reposition his shades, the Brit rolled his eyes with a stiff shrug, allowing a small smile to cross his lips. She wouldn't care about something as trivial as a constricting seizure. That wasn't the big picture. "You know," she suddenly barked, pausing and spinning on her left heel, "Yo'...a lot bigger since the first day we met. _Taller_, I mean." she corrected with a sly arch about her, very well aware of how quickly twisted the mind of her friend had become. She could have sworn he sneering proudly about the fact. "Couldn't beat me in a fight now." he gloated with a firm chest, a somewhat gangly hand hanging before him, "I could take you down wit _one_ hand."

"Come off it."

"You come off it."

"Yo' wot? Five three, a 'undred twenty five pounds? The fuckin' wind'll knock yeh over. You 'ad the advantage before I 'it puberty."

"Oh, wot? A few months later?"

"Yo' point?"

"Yo' full o' shit, Muds. I wonder why I waste my time on you."

"Yeah, well, I wondered it _first_!"

The teen paused her rant as she tried to hold back a curious laugh, "Really?" A slow grin tugged at the edge of the man's lips, receiving a reprimanding punch to the gut. Shaking her head, Weslee took a step back, "You always 'ave to win, don't you, Niccals?" A sudden gurgle squished and sloshed its way to her attention, patting her belly that obviously required some filling. Ruffling her hair, she glanced over her shoulder. Half a block down was old man McCarthy's shop. Not a five star, mind you, but he was bound to have some leftover oatcakes from the lunch run. "I'm starved...let's 'ead down to McCarthy's place." she suggested, about to lead the way when her eye caught the Brit flexing his muscles in oddly humorous renditions of a body building superman, his way of celebrating his victory. Holding her nose, her snort echoed in the back of her throat, tears threatening to trail down her cheeks, "Oh, _pffft_. I'm sooo _impressed_."

Offering a wink with a slight chuckle, he turned the corner, not bothering to wait for her. She caught up easily enough, slowing her pace when she matched his. Her eyes wandered up towards the sky, the oranges mixing with the pinks and yellows. It always put her in a peaceful mindset, and often brought out a bolder side to her like radiation to a mutant, but in a much more positive sense. Stretching her arms out, she felt the wind as it gushed playfully past, a couple of leaves smacking against her jeans and crunching beneath her feet. With a release of breath, she swung her arms down, slapping the left hand against Murdoc's chest. Pinching her hand before she could snatch it back, he lifted it as evidence, "You like to start shit, don't yeh, Weevil? Yeh better watch yo'self." he threatened lightly with a smug smile.

Furrowing her brows, she poked him in the chest, "We can go, right 'ere, right now."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. Right after my oatcake."

Snorting, the Brit nodded his chin forward, "'s right there. Go get yo' oatcake and we face off at six." Allowing a full laugh in return, the young woman jerked her thumb, "Excuse me, we 'ad a deal. Last time I bought." Moaning and groaning, the shaggy haired teen leaned over, still about forty feet or so from the store, but too annoyed with the owner to go any closer. "C'mon Weev, I'll get next time, I swear. I don't wanna deal wit Mad Hatter today." Murdoc had easily given the nickname to the rickety boned old geezer and it stuck on pretty good. Even some of the adults around the block had begun calling him by it, not to his face of course, but the teens could care less what they said to his face, except Weslee. And for the love of anything understandable, Murdoc just couldn't get why. What was so great about an old bloke who constantly threatened to kill you for just leaning on his windows while having a smoke? The girl had the strangest taste in people. Not that he could say much for himself.

Scrunching her nose, she huffed, her cheeks bulging up with all the colors of the sky shading her freckles, and he couldn't help but roll his eyes. "I'm 'ungry as 'ell, an' you owe me." she demanded, grinning at his defeated groan, then noticed something peculiar. Her grin turned something vile within seconds, "Oy, Muds?"

"Mm?"

"Why yeh so 'ung up on me? I thought you were over tha'." she questioned with a miserably failing innocent facade, pointing at the hand he hadn't yet released. Snorting at her accusation, the Niccals boy snatched his back, tucking it gently in his pocket, "You fuckin' wish. 'ew ever said I was _into_ yeh?" Arching a brow, she crossed her arms, with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, "Oh, so you were just bein' nice when I was upgraded from under the bed to on top of it. Is _that_ it?"

"'ey, I never did nothin'." he grunted, rocking on his heels, "Although I did deserve a _little_ _somethin'_ after all that. It wosn't easy 'idin' yeh for five years...then when Hans finally discovered yeh, I thought yeh might as well be comfortable knowin' nothin' could've been better 'ad I not been in the picture." he grinned proudly, nodding as if to agree with himself. "An' those warm snuggly 'ugs at night didn't mean nothin'?" she asked with a smirk. Holding his hands up innocently, he shrugged with his own grin, "'ey, wot you did on yo' time is on you."

"So...then me and Hann-"

"So about that oatcake." He quickly cut in, pacing a little faster than she to avoid any further details. Doing a slight jog, she bounded along side him, a smile still etched on her face, but a more relaxed and caring one at that, "You know, Muds, you never do let me tell that stor-" Suddenly halting, the Brit held up his right hand, ticking off each finger by one, "Weev, there's about ...three....four...a _bajillion_ things I'd rather listen to than a story about you an Hannibal. I 'onestly don't give a damn." Crossing his arms, he watched grimly as she almost snickered at his reaction, knowing quite well that any story that involved his brother was one he'd rather let go of, especially the one he nearly killed him for once the drunken slur of mess had reconfigured into English within the boy's mind. Her shoulders shrugged in a mellow manner, a somewhat untruthful victory lying before her, however to crush Murdoc's pride for once was a sweet taste, even if the boards were unfair in the game. She chuckled to herself as she watched him pull out his wallet and search around all the hidden pockets inside it, some intentional and others creatively added, finding the stash eventually, but in vain. She glanced down at her chipped nails, eyes slowly lifting to the large sign of McCarthy's, the broken florescent not yet turned on for the evening hours. Her left hand rung around her right wrist in front of her, not often feeling that disgusting hideous thing that was known to help people once in a while...that monstrous little being....oh yeah, the conscience. Snorting in pent frustration, she rolled her eyes, waiting for the boy to catch up after he tucked his wallet away for safe keeping. Its not like anyone would've thought he was worth it, but sadly...he was. He definitely was.

"Oy, Niccals, before I'm old!" she snapped, pulling him to the door but blocking him from entering. She held a strange kind of smile, one he hadn't seen before. Perhaps the most genuine one of all. "Don't be so jealous." She said quietly as he arched a brow in curiosity, "I got my first kiss from you." Plucking the money from his hand, she patted his cheek, and nearly got the whole sentence out with a serious face before she broke at the last word and ran into the shop unable to control her explosive elation, "That means I took your mouth virginity." Unable to hold back the grin cracking along his face, the young Brit shook his head as he pinched between his nose, knowing his life was definitely worth living when Weevil was around. Poking her head out of the door, her grin remained, although she spoke words that didn't quite fit the shape of her face, "How many you wanted?"

"Just one." he chuckled, leaning along the doorway. Her eyes followed his every move, the crossing of his arms, the strands of his hair blown by wind, the wrinkle of his nose every time his glasses slide. It didn't go unnoticed, as he had glanced down purposefully, gravity tugging at his shades and those strange but interesting eyes peered back, another wink for her pleasure, however this time, she leaned against the other side, both waiting for nothing and everything as time held not a number nor place, but visions. Poking a finger to the back of his jaw line, she traced it down to his chin, flicking his nose before walking them up his chest. Those multicolored orbs stayed hooked on every move, sadly knowing she had all the pieces, and he was allowing it to be. A small smile grew from the side of her face, not quite menacing, but awfully swindling, "Still think you can win the fight?"

* * *

**Author's Note**: A flashback within a flashback. My goodness I had time on my hands. However, I enjoyed how I ended up doing that...it just gives more of an insight on their beginnings and relationship. Cookies for the obvious hidden joke within the story finders. If you got it, you also get the prize of knowing you're as pathetically obsessed with Gorillaz as I am.


	4. Part 4

**Author's Note**: I'd like to thank all of you who have read and have been waiting for the following chapter. I saved all reviews in my email inbox to constantly remind me to add a little each day, and then some nights I'd just edit…and edit…and edit. I'm not quite sure how many times I edited this chapter, but I know it was a LOT. I discovered Twitter and so I've been following Murdoc on Plastic Beach news…so excited….:P Truly brightened up my day the day he made the broadcast (now it's on their website, but I heard it live which made it that much more special, especially since my class had been cancelled) Listening to that in the library with people wondering what you're snickering at can really make one wonder afterwards how nutters they looked. I really love how twisted Murdoc sounds now, off his rocker for lack of a better time. And his kiddies! And finding out 2D hates whales? I think they've based the poor soul on me. Can't stand whales. They're just too big. Never took a step inside the Museum of Natural History ocean exhibit for that one reason. Huge ass whale floating in the sky. I'd have an attack. Went through the myths exhibit and they got me with the Kraken. Sea creatures creep me out to an unhealthy degree. And it was "life sized" and coming through the floor…-shudders- But erm…yeah. On with the chapter!

* * *

Part 4

Arching a brow he was quite positive was invisible under all that shaggy mane, the sly Brit shifted forward, nearly nose to nose with the girl, "Well…you tell me…an' we'll see 'ew 'as the advantage." The girl held her slick smile, tilting her head away from him towards the curb, hands gently curving behind her back serving as a cushion before fully resting at an angle. Always with a comeback, this one. A nearly fully grown smart ass. Knowing his status among that of his fellow men, she was positive it could only be expected of him to defend himself, even playfully. She did wish he'd relax and release those iron stiff pit bull sensitivities now and then, but then again, he just wouldn't be Murdoc, now, would he? She ran the tip of her sneaker along the cracked step of the establishment, shoving a few fallen leaves off and on their way to another wind chosen location. It was so easy to envy such a miniscule thing of life. Running her fingers behind her back along the roughly painted wood, the dark chocolate haired woman released a swollen sigh, to anyone else, a sign of boredom or impatience, but to her, a boredom and impatience of something much bigger and more important than any oatcake could be. It was simply…life.

Everyday there seemed to be something missing…or something she was missing out on. She knew there was a bigger world out there then just Stoke. Hell…anyone knew _that_. But…to be able to contact that world…to be a part of it…to emerge oneself and actually touch it…How great victory would taste that day. Popping her eyes from their glazed over gaze, Weslee rubbed the shin of her left leg with the heel of her right. That was weird…almost felt like a…

Giving the shady teen a once over, her heel "accidentally" found his open shin, nearly knocking him off balance from his knee bent against the frame. "Oy, wot the 'ell! Standin' 'ere mindin' me own business an' yeh gotta fuckin' kick me. Yeh got some nerve." the Brit grumbled, dusting off the heel mark left by the dirt of her grimy Converse. Rolling her eyes, his counterpart rested her head against the post, slightly closing those feisty minty orbs, "Glance off for one second an' yeh can't stand it. Like a bloody lovesick puppy, you are. Can't even get my mind in, edgewise." A gust of wind tunneled faster than any car could down the block, gushing through the doorway with a batch of dirty crushed leaves, mere skeletons of what they had been. Rubbing her arm, the girl lifted her brightly colored eyes, grumbling with a downed brow at the clouds moving rather quickly above. This was often the sign of one of their famous where-the-fuck-did-that-storm-come-from spells. There went the lovely sunset she had been hoping to see sooner than later. Thudding back with a grunt, she glanced at the boy giving her a pudgy, touchy pout. "A puppy, am I?" he mumbled, a darkly venomous tone in there she could only identify as an underlying smirk within words. It was as safe as dancing with fire. Popping himself from his position, the teen ignored the threatening winds and debris smacking against his chest (and further mussing his hair), leaning quite close with his hands in his jacket pockets, "'ope I'm not fixed." he grinned sharply, nodding his head against hers.

Arching a brow, the girl poked at the second 'B' on his shirt, "If yeh were, I'd 'ave 'alf a mind teh play wit yeh." She somehow managed to slip her arms between the two, crossing them in the limited space Murdoc had already predetermined, prizing a smirk of her own, "Its nicer to play wit a puppy 'ew isn't tryin' teh 'ump yo' leg all the time." Curling a grin she could only deem as evil, the youngest Niccals boy (as far as he knew) inched closer, pinning his hands alongside her with a whisper to her ear, "Never tease a breed yo' unsure of." Closing her left eye, the girl did her best to ignore how far the moptop had gone in public eye; however, she couldn't say she hadn't egged him on. She _did_ know better than to coax out any form of the hormone driven and emotionally neglected teen, but every demon has their day…and sometimes she just couldn't put her own to rest. His cheek rubbed against hers gently with a pure as he pulled back to merely look down at her slouched form; however, before he could do much else (let alone breathe), the bristly end of the stick Old Man McCarthy used daily to sweep the outside of his storefront sharply nicked the back of his head.

Shaking his head for a brief moment, the young lad glared over his shades at the store owner himself. "Yeh leave that girl alone Niccals, or next time it'll be yo' _face_." The boy's neck dug between his shoulder blades, arms still balanced on either side of the girl before him; however, his actions only advanced as he pressed his body against hers, a focus on the elder that would've killed what was left of him, if possible. Another knock against the head, and this time, harder. "Fuck _off_, old man!" the shaggy haired Brit hissed, lifting himself a bit, but only to enhance his threat. His body nearly curved over his friend, as if protecting her from the savage beast daring to intrude on their private moment. He could faintly hear her cough up a giggle, snorting in response. Of course she would think it was funny. She supported the old geezer with all her might.

Solomon Edgar McCarthy was one soul not many knew about, and if they did, they couldn't say much about. The rumors that had floated around since the teens were ankle biters were next to legendary about the five foot eleven, salt and pepper haired man. Though his frame was known to crack here and there, he still maintained a slight build, one quite impressive for one of his age…whatever that happened to be. No one was exactly sure how many years the old man had on him, and no one was stupid enough to ask. One bloke who was known for selling interesting colored pills to the kids in town had once uttered that McCarthy "had been in more wars and bombings than he should have been able to survive through…now which colors call to you, hmm?"

The old man despised the young and reckless (Murdoc could swear an oath on that), and had personal favorites the boy was absolutely sure he had out for. Had it been socially acceptable to hold shooting ranges for unruly adolescents, Murdoc would've been offed long ago. Or, at least, he swore so. He never could get Weslee to see his way. Any and all conversations about the man always ended with each their own opinion. Just what was so great about the sunken eyed, snarling old fossil anyway? His face held the structure of a permanently irritated bull dog: high cheek bones, sharp and angled, lips nearly always pulled back into a dull toothed growl, ears pinned to his head, almost Doberman in comparison. Age had not dulled down the elder's senses; even his reflexes were notable for one with a cane. The Niccals boy often debated with himself if the cane was merely for show… It seemed perfectly dastardly to feign one's vigor, simply holding back for the opportune moment to strike. It didn't surprise him when Weevil not only snorted at the idea, but mocked him for the rest of the week, earning a solid cold shoulder for three days after. The old man had much to hide, and not that Murdoc cared to find out anything, but life would surely be sweeter if he could gain any dirt to rub that drooly canine face in.

His hands appeared broken the way they were able to twist and turn, a few cracks snapping off when he balanced the broom against his shoulder, ears nearly turned up as his dark mug sagged his sunken cheeks inward. Eyes darting for that relentless cane, the younger male scoffed, tilting his chin up. Able to balance without it, was he? Stupid git couldn't fool him. It was a wonder how this man was able to keep living. He had once heard one was able to live off of anger alone…the day this man relaxed would be his doom. "Don't test me, boy. You know 'ow much I 'ate to break a promise." the taller grunt threatened, icy blues holding a contest with the multicolored mix. Lips pulled into a cheeky smugness, the seventeen year old pressed a palm against the boy's chest, giving him a light shove, "Yeah, back off, yeh mutt." she snickered, taking a step into the darkly lit establishment. Ignoring the stress induced tick in his left eye, the lad shoved his arms into his back pockets, inching towards the store owner, "I swear, old man, I 'ave 'alf a mind teh report yo' arse on account of abuse. I'm a payin' customer."

"I'd be impressed if yeh 'ad a quarter of a mind, Niccals." the elder retorted, flipping the broom over his shoulder, into his right hand, and tossed it neatly into a corner, as if by practiced habit, "And go ahead. Report me. We'll see 'ew's side the police'll be on." The teenaged Brit couldn't decide what was more infuriating: the old man's knack for sticking it right where it couldn't be retrieved, or the equally as conniving siren with that teasing grin of hers that was growing ever so larger with every passing second. He watched with a sneer as McCarthy rested a hand on the sturdy counter, lifting the doorbar with his right before entering behind the showcase bearing doughnuts, bagels, cookies, and other assortments stacked rather nicely on clean decorated tissue paper. It was assumed the old man had much time on his hands, able to keep everything neat and most of all, spotless, with those awkward crooked hands of his. For a second, the Niccals boy ignored the aging life before him, judging up his domain with a broader sense of the word 'unforgiving'.

McCarthy's was a popular Mom and Pop type establishment, especially among those attending Sodsworth (at least the food here was semi decent and didn't compare to Montezuma' revenge), and sadly it seemed the majority of the old man's business relied on the youthful scum of the sewers, though he did get a drunkard or two on occasion. The setup was perfect for a café of sorts, or even an extremely small bar, but the elder enjoyed selling the tidbits he did, and so his batch of costumers were in variation rather than stability. Inside was a rather large room for what it came across as, as the boy duly noted the only things taking up space in it were three humans, the counters, the food case and the register that rested on top of the counter with a few napkin dispensers and sugar cases. Through past experiences, Murdoc knew there to be a medium sized cooler just under that counter that held beers and pop, and sometimes chicken, and a small transistor radio most likely gathering dust, but that was it. The room was void of tables or chairs, decorations or anything of the sort. A single ceiling light faintly glowed a dusty yellow against the dark oak paneling, one round needle point clock hung directly over the doorway, probably the only form of used entertainment around there, and that bristle broom he used more as a weapon than a cleaning tool. The teen rolled his eyes as he kicked at the checkerboard lamination on the floor, "Yeh got a real knack for decoration, old man. When are yeh gunna get some seatin' in 'ere?"

"When the likes of you quit scrawlin' yeh nasty little messages all over 'em." McCarthy snapped with a scowl, wrapping up the freshly heated oatcakes in their fancy little papers. Patting the elder's crooked hand, the girl offered a gentle smile, one only used for such a man like him, "No need for formalities, sir. We're going to eat 'em straight away. I'm a bit starved an' Murdoc's treatin'." she added as she peered over her shoulder with a glint of spunk in her eye. Snorting with a shake of his head, the growing lad entertained himself with the pattern on the floor, stepping only on the red tiles rather than the whites. Giving the troublemaker a glance, the old man sighed, picking out a few napkins for them, "I truly wonder about you, Weslee. 'angin' around a ragamuffin like him. Sweet girl like you oughta find company more…" he arched a brow, watching the boy rub his nose against the sleeve of his jacket, locking eyes with him for mere moments as they held another glaring contest, "…decent."

Grabbing her order, the girl adjusted her falling sleeves with a tighter knot on the handkerchiefs, glancing at the young delinquent herself. It was interesting how similar these two men were, as much as they despised each other. They shared so much personality…she was sure if they were ever to give the other a chance, they might actually be at peace knowing there was someone who understood, and that they weren't so alone in the world. "Stop tellin' the lady wot teh do, yeh old git. She _obviously_ fancies 'angin' around me. Why else would she stay? Must be _somethin'_ she's likin'." the young Niccals preached smugly as he nearly drowned in pride, leaning backwards against the counter after giving the girl a small shoulder bump. Nodding his head in agreement, the rickety man huffed in mockery, "Always somethin' to like when yo' purchases are covered by someone else. Let's go, Niccals. Yeh don't get yo's till my register closes." he added with a grunt, the single packaged oatcake disappearing before the teen could smell it. Slapping the currency on the counter before shoving it towards the old man, the grizzle toothed Brit furrowed his brow, "Oy, there's extra in there. I want a pack o' smokes."

"'ow very nice of you teh poison the air of the lovely flower tha' chooses to plant 'erself next to a weed." The pack was tossed without care at the boy, eagerly snatched and stashed away in the cavern of his jacket. "No," the elder of the two youngest responded, lips covered in jam from the first bite. Her arm rung around the boney leather bound shoulders, running her clean hand among the sea of locks begging to be tousled bearing the smile of a child, "S'more like," she started, taking another craved bite, "'mo lie' I'b… more like I'm (she had swallowed by this point) the gardener…and Muds 'ere's the flower." Tiling his head in grim curiosity, he couldn't help wonder why she was labeling him as a flower. He would've taken the weed. And yet, she was almost priding herself on this declaration, giving those pinned shoulders a squeeze. "A poor wilted flower that's been neglected somethin' awful. Surrounded by weeds an' bugs' an' all tha'. But day by day, the gardener prunes and prunes, an' slowly, but surely, the flower gets life put back into 'im. Gettin' stronger every day." she ended with a wink, the main character of her story less then enthused and the store owner smirking a mischievous one of his own. Pulling out of her grip, the boy tore at the packaging the old man had finally placed before him, taking a beastly chomp out of the sausage and cheese filled oatcake he was known to order most out of any other choice, "Throwin' me in a story wit plants an' shit. 'the 'ell's wrong wit you."

Pouting slightly, she poked her tongue at him before taking the third bite that would have her halfway through her first, "Aw, yeh didn't like my analogy?"

"Don't expect 'im to understand. I doubt 'e knows the _word_ analogy."

Shoving off in a steam towards the doorway, the teen chose to rest his back against the wall next to the open door, sliding down slowly until his rear hit the floor, knee pulled up to rest his eating arm with. There was only so much he could take from the Mad Hatter, and he had already passed his limit a few minutes ago. Anymore and he was bound to be arrested for harassment or something along those lines. McCarthy definitely had the gull to add a few details that may or may not have happened along the way. Either way, the man was filled with enough fire in him to burn down the city. Shaking his head, Murdoc pushed his shades up, refusing to see the real world anymore and took another bite, slurping up a strip of bacon that managed to sneak in. He ignored the slick shadow that grazed up against his left side…or at least, he tried to. It was hard to ignore someone leaning against you…with jam on their face. Arching a brow at the girl, he inwardly sighed, popping his shoulder with an unsuccessful detachment. Instead, she shoved the rest of what was left in her hand into her mouth and offered him a toothy smile, reddish ooze decorating her teeth and the rim of her lips. He couldn't help but smile at her appearance, quite ridiculous and unflattering, but that was Weevil. Didn't give an honest shit what anyone thought, and, in his opinion, rightfully so. Caring about things like that didn't get her where she was today…not that where she was, was exactly anywhere she wanted to be…

Staring at his meat filled patty, he chewed slowly, thought replaying in his mind. She was a good kid…smarter than any posh school could handle, self taught, she was. He couldn't remember hearing about any rich snot who could teach themselves about history, math, and all them other classes they spent fortunes on just to jot on a list of 'things I did to look good for a university'. No, she had done it out of natural interest, used resources like libraries and older people who were willing to give her the time of day. It nearly gave him indigestion knowing she was still struggling for survival all these years later, and he could offer nothing more than an occasional shelter. Her neck craned over, wincing an eye as she peeked into the oatcake, curious of his momentary pause. "Somethin' wrong wit it?" she asked, one eye closed as she tried to identify the problem, the other closing as soon as Murdoc released a quick whistleless blow into it.

"Nope," he sighed with a slow exhalation, wiggling the patty in his hand before taking another bite, "Just thinkin' about our fantastic lives so far." If jam could have shot out her nose, Murdoc was positive it would've hit the other side of the establishment with the pressure her snort released, eyes popping as he tilted his head, unable to give her some privacy as she capped her mouth and nose, cheeks pressing her eyes shut in a hilarity he couldn't seem to find. "Wot the fuck…" he muttered, chewing up the chunk he hadn't realized was still in his mouth. Swallowing hard, the girl rubbed her eyes with her palms, glancing back at her old time friend with a blood stained grin, "Oh so fantastic!"

Shrugging his shoulders with a sniff, the boy picked at his food, "Shit, Weev…wasn't all _that_ funny." She merely crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue in response. A slow rumble interrupted their attention on each other, forcing each to glance off to the right and out the doorway, listening to the low drum roll parading for just a moment. Shaking his head, the boy slightly sighed again at his pitiful meal, the best he could do. When was the last time he had eaten a sandwich? Or had a meal and drink at the same time? A dessert? His eyes wandered, hitting the old man wiping off his counter first, and then finally drifting off to his best mate, jam faced and all. She didn't seem too bothered by the food…bothered by anything, actually. How could she be so satisfied, so contempt with the slimy cesspool surrounding her? And he doubted the oatcake was as enjoyable as she made it seem. Slightly irritated by her good mood (because for the love of anything reasonable, he just couldn't share in the merriment), the lad's jaw nearly protruded and sprouted a few of his fangish teeth, and in all sincerity, she couldn't be blamed for his bad mood, although she was the object of it. He had to remember that when she lightly burped and looked up at him, throwing him an arched brow of seriousness. How had he been staring at her? Certainly not in admiration, that's for sure.

Her brow slowly lowered as she shifted her head back, resting it gently against the wooden panel in competition with the darkness of her hair. A gurgle rumbled around her belly before she cut it off, "Wot's wrong?" It was a strange question. He couldn't very well _lie_ to her, knowing exactly well that she knew his strengths and weaknesses (not that he would admit to having any), inside, out and probably all around. Besides, those large glowing eyes of hers would most likely absorb the information from his own before he could break the first word. And so, his best move was to stay silent and take yet another bite, successfully getting it into his mouth before she placed her hand on his and lowered his only form of muting himself from the world. A quick swallow didn't help his case, either. However, as he thought about opening his mouth, a crack from above interrupted, and a few drops began to pitter down below, but only enough to count on fingers. He dusted his hand off on his jacket, rubbing his mouth before simply staring off outside, pretending to be interested in the world.

"Well, well…a speechless turn for Murdoc Niccals. Never thought I'd see the day."

He honestly couldn't tell who had spoken it, at that point both the girl and old man seemed to share their souls at the same exact time, and their voices nearly melted into one. It didn't matter. Still made him feel like shit. Pouting off in further irritation, the boy semi capped his eyes, hardly impressed with the comments bound to come, yet couldn't ignore the girl's hand gently tugging at his furthest cheek to come back to reality. A few friendly smacks ought to do it…or so Weevil assumed. And still with that childlike mask. Scrunching his nose, the teen whipped out a napkin wedged between his fingers and his fancy wrapped oatcake, not intending to do the job for her, but at least get her started. Pressing it against her face didn't seem to do any good, especially when the end result was it sticking to her cheek. The two stared at each other in disbelief of the other, slow grins stretching across their faces until cracking along with the weather, a harder mist falling outside as the mood seemed to brighten within. "Awright, Mr. Down in the Dumps, I'll wipe my face." she chuckled, doing her best to lazily wipe the rectangular sheet across her mouth, doing a somewhat decent job, "Never took you as one for a nitpicker in personal hygiene." she added quietly, more of a spoken thought than remark.

"Not like there's much in my 'ome to keep up wit hygiene in the first place. Use it when we 'ave it, and when it's gone, yeh make due."

"Well, you don't smell like overwhelming 'manliness', so I'm assumin' you showered wit soap an' water, rather than cologne."

Remaining quiet for a moment, the lad contemplated the statement. Turning his shoulder a bit, he lightly rested against her, pulling the other leg up since the one being used had started to fall asleep with that side of his rear, "_You_ smell awful nice all the _time_…wot's _yo'_ secret." he mumbled, exceedingly discreet when he glanced over his shoulder, dragging in a whiff of her. Animals did it all the time; however, it wasn't so welcoming in the human world. And even if it was, doing so to your best mate in front of a man who was dreadfully protective of her just wouldn't give off the proper indication of the term 'best mate' (not that he cared what the old geezer thought). And under the overpowering waft of strawberry coming out of her second oatcake, he could pull out a very light creamy scent…not exactly vanilla, but something like it and just as pleasant…topped off with mint. He couldn't identify where it came from exactly (whether her body or hair, though at some point he'd sure like to find out and would deeply enjoy doing so), but he was quite sure people weren't born smelling like unnatural essences.

"I shower every day." she shrugged with a smile, easiest answer in the world. It was pleasing to know a pleasantry was omitting from her rather than anything else. Furrowing his brow, she managed to catch his eyes change behind the extremely dark frames before disappearing with the glint of the light, "'ow are _you_ able teh do _that_? An' wit wot soaps an' showers, eh?" Shoving more jam on her face as she dug in, the girl lightly smirked, "The ones I steal an' don't worry about it. It gets done." There were few times Murdoc had known her to use the shower in his home, but then again, he wasn't with her all the time she stayed over. Strange…he always thought women the water hogging type. Then again, it _was_ Weslee…

Another crack snapped off somewhere a few miles back as the rain finally poured, even drizzling in through the open doorway and throwing a few drops on Murdoc's arm. Although he couldn't feel it (purpose of the jacket and all), he still glared out and shoved his body left, momentarily forgetting that space was taken and incidentally knocking the girl over. "'ell, Murdoc. If yeh wanted me to move, yeh could'a asked." she grumbled, picking up the oatcake that had shot out of her hand and onto the floor, all forms of light gone from her face. He mumbled a few incoherent sounds, not willing to apologize for something as stupid as this…but he still picked up a few pieces, tossing them outside into the rain. Rolling his eyes, the old man sighed, "Makin' a soggy mess for me teh clean up later? I 'ave a bin right 'ere, Niccals."

"Birds." he answered simply, though both knew birds wouldn't come by any time soon. If anything, they were hiding as best they could from the downpour. Dusting his hands off on his jeans, the boy leaned for a moment to look out once again. His face scrunched up slightly, and then relaxed with a quiet sigh. He decided to get on his feet, stretching a bit before resting right on the doorframe, wearing a face that required a code to decipher. A few drops tackled him upfront, but this time, it didn't seem to bother him. Almost if he wasn't paying attention anymore. It was rare when the boy put his 'thought mode' into use. He'd often spend his time fooling around, earning a troublemaking name for himself, showing off…Shaking her head, Weslee patted her mouth gently, crumpling the napkin into a ball and taking a few steps back towards McCarthy opening a beer for himself. He arched a brow at the lad with a curious gesture, but his favorite only smiled, her eyes never leaving the back of his leather jacket.

His wife had always told him children were the future, the betters of tomorrow, the next generation; however, he only wished he could show her how wrong she had been. Most of them were disrespecting brats, trouble making terrors, tomorrow's criminals. Offensive creatures they were, always running their mouths without anything to curb the language and stupidities. She had always wanted children…

Running his thumb along his wedding band, the old man looked up as Weslee tossed the ball into the bin he had waiting, "'e talks a lot. Hot air, occasionally. But…" She tucked her thumbs into her front pockets, tilting her head, "It's…It's when it _matters_…tha' no one listens…'e's bright in a way I've never come across. Mind like no other…'e's fascinating." she grinned, nodding her head at the store owner, slowly pacing towards the nonmoving statue gazing out into the messy world. A small smile escaped the man, taking a slow sip of his refreshment. Well…they weren't _all_ horrible, he'd give them that.

Nudging her shoulder against Murdoc's, the girl kept her smile, sharing a staring contest over who would see the most rain drops hit the pavement, but after a moment, she peeked over at him, realizing his stare was much softer than before, and was either ignoring her or hadn't noticed her at all. Truly lost in thought. It was times like these when she felt he needed to get those thoughts out rather than keep them cooped up, though it was often dropped and "forgotten". She would feel left out during these sessions, knowing it was a bit selfish of her, but she couldn't help it. She'd help all she could and even if Murdoc would cringe at the thought of being worried for (not that she'd admit that, either), she'd do her best to make things right, or at the very least, sort them out. Swallowing the final taste of strawberry, Weslee let her eyes roam, holding her right hand out into the rain, feeling its icy chill prick at her palm and run off her fingers. She usually liked rain, but not when it was cold. That just made it unpleasant.

Her body leaned right as she wiped her hand against her jeans, resting her shoulder against the frame as well. Her left hand unhooked from her pocket, quickly sliding into the dangling hand of the mind numbed teenager…and as if that was the answer all along, the boy blinked and glanced down for a second, then up at her smirking face, ignoring him directly, eyes closed, but attention on him entirely. "Ehhh…" he grumbled, slipping his out just as quickly before tucking it in his jacket. He shook his head, whipping a few droplets at her, holding back a chuckle when her eyes tightened, not expecting water to the face. Drying it off with her sleeve, the girl crossed her arms with a questioning look. Arching a brow, the Brit leaned opposite, staring out once more, "Wot's wit yeh, lately? All…cuddly, an' wotnot. People'll talk." he lectured with a small smile, knowing the girl was just as uncaring as he.

Rolling her eyes with a grin, she rubbed her hands together and blew into them. It was getting somewhat chilly with the rain attacking her so lightly. Exposed parts were already colder than she wanted them to be. "An' since when do yeh give a flyin' rats' arse when people talk about yeh?" she chuckled, rubbing her neck dry. Shrugging with a scrunch of his nose, the boy took notice of her strange rituals to keep herself warm, "I _don't_ give a flyin' rats' arse when they're talkin' about _me_." The girl paused for a moment, a large grin stretching out her face as she ruffled her friend's shaggy locks, "Aw, Niccals! You connivin' lit'tle underdog, you! Tinman found 'is heart after all." she teased, grabbing a lock of hair and tugging at it until he smacked her hand off.

"Fuck _off_, would yeh?" he snapped lightly, typical response to anything the girl would say to piss him off, "Make me sound like a fuckin' pansy." Stuffing her hands into her own pockets, the girl grinned, closing her eyes as a gust of wind nearly soaked them both, raindrops running down any part they could. Wiping his face off, the teen grumbled, arching a hidden threatening brow at her when she muttered, "But you _are_ a pansy."

"Yeh wanna run that by me again?" he growled, lifting his chin as he glared down, pinning her shoulder sideways with his chest, but she merely giggled. Giving his nose an innocent flick, she dusted off the rain drops as best she could before they soaked in, "I'm the gardener, remember?" Staring at her for a moment, he groaned and tilted back, cracking a pinch in his neck before resting his head along the wooden structure, "_'onestly_, Weevil…" His shoulders lurched as he glanced back darkly, McCarthy sucking at his teeth and the empty beer bottle rolling around in the metal bin where he had thrown it. The old man sniffed with a nod, "Off outta 'ere, you. Yo' done. Ate an' everythin'." Furrowing his brows, the teen was about to lift himself from his slouched position, however his friend's hand in warning gently pressed back against his chest, "Don't yeh see the paradise out there or are you also _blind_?" the lad snapped, brushing the girl's hand off with a careless assurance that he wasn't going to do anything…reckless.

"'sides, I'm wit 'er." he added, suddenly whipping his hand around and catching hers before she could bury it back in her jacket, waving it like a trophy with a roll of her eyes, "I go, she goes. Yeh don't wanna throw yo' _precious_ Weslee out in the pourin' rain now, do yeh, old man?" His chilled hand released the girl's, cupping under her chin and squeezed out her cheeks into a lippy pout. A quick punch to his gut released the captive, rubbing her now cold face with a grumble, but McCarthy shot a finger at the boy with an icy tone, "I'm _warnin'_ yeh, Niccals. Yeh put _one_ more hand on tha' girl…"

"Or you'll wot? _Beat_ me wit the broom? Come off it, old man. I'll 'ave my hands where I want 'em."

"Yeh'll keep 'em to yo'self if yeh want 'em attached to yo' wrists after yeh go to sleep."

"…That a _threat_?"

"Take it to be wot you will."

"Never took yeh to be as perverted as yeh are twisted."

"There's gunna be a whole lot 'o years yo' gunna be missin' out on once I'm through wit you, yeh scum."

Poking at his chest, Weslee glanced between the two grimly. The air within the room had become awfully tight within the last few seconds. It couldn't possibly in favor of the elder's health. The level of excitement was beginning to worry her. "Knock it off, Murdoc." she muttered, but he kept on. He wasn't about to let the old man have the upper hand in this.

"Yo' a lot of talk, old man. Bet the stories about yeh are nothin' but horse shit. Supposedly some army god, are yeh? Well, then bring it on. Give it yo' best shot. An' I'll even let yeh use the broom." the teen smirked, flicking the said object from the corner to the floor, sending off a light wooden clatter as it hit the linoleum. The elder ignored the fallen tool, primarily focused on the juvenile delinquent before him, eager to rip his claws into him in due time. Jabbing her elbow into his side, the dark haired girl growled a bit louder, her tone as sharp as her hit, "Murdoc, _stop_ it." McCarthy's chest was rising and caving as quickly as she could count seconds. Niccals just couldn't seem to pick the right fights. Or even ones with proper purpose. What was he expecting to get out of this? A heart attack off the old store owner? Some trophy. With a small huff, McCarthy seemed to have immediately calmed himself, pulling out his favored cane from underneath the counter to balance on, curving both hands on it as he gently spun it around, "All talk, hm?"

Weslee grabbed at the young man's sleeve with ground teeth, pulling back hard as the best indication to leave at that very moment without another word, but was tugged off, brows arching with a risky smirk, simply daring the old one on, "_Murdoc_!"

"It may not mean much of anythin' to you, boy, but _I've_ lived a completed life. Made my mistakes, served my dues, made a name for myself, an' lived wit a happy marriage for nearly fifty years. I'm _accomplished_. It's a 'ell of a lot more than I can say for you, yeh pitiful excuse fer a man. Spawn of a Niccals…the loins are soiled in that! Jobless, motherless, practically fatherless without a penny to yo' name. 'ow does it feel to know yeh'll never amount to anythin' more than the oatcakes yeh eat?"

Murdoc's fingers slowly curled into pulsing, bony fists.

"Look at yeh…draggin' down the good of the world wit yeh. Yo' a waste, Niccals. A murky, grotty _waste_. Yeh'll do yo' old man _proud_, just like yo' runt of a brother. I'm tellin' yeh, Weslee," he barked, lifting his chin at her, "You 'ang around this _maggot_ too long, an' 'e'll lead yeh straight teh _hell_! 'em types don't care 'bout no one but them own worthless selves. Only _one_ reason 'e'd latch onto a fit lass like you." he sniped as the teen's ears suddenly enflamed with his pumping chest.

The Niccals family was rather famously known for being quite broken, and not exactly role model of the year in any form or way. This never slowed Murdoc down, always assuming his everyday accomplishments required no one else but himself, and held his head very highly because of it. He _didn't_ need anyone. He, unlike many of the other sods out there, could and had to take care of himself. Survival of the fittest and he was doing quite well, thanks. But sliding Weslee into it was an entirely different match. How dare the old binge threaten his bond with the girl? How dare he suggest something so simply vile, the dark lad couldn't even fathom a second thought of it? Perhaps if she had been some other…someone who held no status in his life…someone perhaps as worthless as he…but Weslee? No one _ever_ spat mud at their relationship and got away with it.

Thrusting himself forward, Murdoc flexed his arm, rotating his wrists, but before he could take a step, the pale orphan sidestepped in front of him, holding out her arms in case he decided to pass either way. Her glare vomited language too foul for words to describe, nose crunched as her brows furrowed her eyes into slits, but he wasn't about to throw in the towel. Not in this round. Throwing out a fist over her shoulder with the middle arched, the teen glared over his shades, jaw cracking, "_Fuck_ _you_, yeh gormless _wank_!"

It took less than seconds for the store owner to push himself from his leaned stance and target Murdoc without a word edgewise, shiny metal cane twisting in his grip as he readied it to bat. He was mere milliseconds away from taking the boy's head clean off with one shot before Weslee glanced back at him then tackled the fiend, burying her cheek within his chest and her arms within his jacket as she despondently gazed up, all radiance gone from her person. Obviously a line had been crossed some time ago, but her large eyes begged for the boy's mercy, though her face remained solemn, protecting the vicious dog about to be put to sleep. Her eyes trailed from the old man's face to his weapon of choice, back to his cold blues, arms tightening around Murdoc's back, pressing her head just under his chin. Her body shifted slightly towards him, knowing there was no chance for either to lunge…but she had awkwardly chosen a side. He wouldn't be able to hit…not without nicking her, anyway.

Slowly, very slowly, the cane lowered, glistening within the light as it softly touched ground, both hands curved one on top of the other, a disappointed calm about him. He knew the boy was untouchable for the most part, special to her, and with reason. Fascinating. "Ten minutes." He blinked, pulled from his thoughts. "Just for a slow in the winds an' we'll leave." She was such a strong girl, and yet, with the eyes of a timid child. Had he done that? Moving his jaw a bit in understanding, he nodded, waving his hand and slowly clumped his way back behind the counter, silence overcoming him.

Looking down with some curiosity, Murdoc tilted his head to peek at the girl's face, however didn't get very far before a harsh punch knocked the wind from him, forcing him to nearly fall forward, the girl his only yield. A few choked gasps later, he wiped at his mouth, glaring up at the teen glaring back at him. "Yeh fuckin' bastard." she hissed, crossing her arms after giving him a nasty shove that threw him into the rain before he could catch his balance. He trudged back, growling down at her, but she shoved him off again before marching out into the gusty, chilled rain, "Don't yeh dare say a _word_. I just saved yo' neck. You can be a real fuckin' _dick_, Nicccals." she snarled through clenched teeth, crossing her arms as the thick mist falling ran through her hair, semi blinding her as her bangs strangled down with much of her clothing.

Grunting in annoyance, Murdoc ran a hand through his hair, before looking back into the dimly lit McCarthy's, clenching his own teeth as he smacked at his jacket in frustration to straighten it out, slapping at his thighs to dust off before finally dashing out. She hadn't gone too far, still tramping off in the distance, "Weevil! Weevil, stop!" he called out, pausing when she glared over her shoulder without a break in her step. "_Ugghhh_," he griped as his brows furrowed, breaking into a run. He grabbed at her arm when in arms reach, but was quickly wrenched off with a snarl, "Weev, it ain't worth walkin' in this shit. Yo' awready soaked, an' the water's _cold_. Let's just wait it out-"

"So you can go back teh just start shit with McCarthy again, is that it? I didn't _want_ to do wot I did back there, Murdoc, but you gave me no _choice_."

"'the fuck are yeh _talkin'_ about? You _know_ we don't get along, an' 'e came at me wit the fuckin' cane. Yeh should'a just let me-"

"Let. You. Wot." she glared, nearly nose to nose with him.

"Yeh might not understand _this_, Murdoc, but I _do_ care for that old man in there. 'e's all alone wit no one to listen to 'im. No one to pay 'im any mind. No one to show 'im the respect 'e knows 'e deserves! Why can't yeh _see_ it?" she growled, grabbing the front of his entirely soaked shirt, a much darker shade of grey than before, "'e's one of us, Murdoc. 'e's one of _us_." The boy winced as the muscles in his jaw contracted, not realizing how heavily his breathing had become. She released his shirt with an assault, glaring at the water logged teen, clothes a few pounds heavier and hair resembling that of a diner mop. Words seemed to have escaped him in the moment, merely staring at her in either confusion or simply letting his mind run blank. Spinning around, she shoved her hands into her pockets, continuing her pace with the mute left behind. It was amazing how easily a day could go to shit. Everything had started so perfectly, for what perfect could be in Stoke. Beautiful day, a bit of teasing here and there, a simple meal…all reduced to this.

Her eyes widened as two arms suddenly grabbed her from behind, and she quickly did her best to kick, but he had planned this, lifting her up so they attacked the air, rather than him. "I'm not lettin' yeh walk in this shit. Yeh'll 'ave pneumonia before yeh get 'ome."

"'ew said I wos goin' there?" she snapped back, but he ignored this, trudging his best back up the block until her wiggling fought her free, smacking his hands off before they could clamp on once more, "Fuck off!" An airborne kick threw her a bit of space between them, eying him with those glowing jewels that seemed to emit their own light in the dark rain. He simply glared back at her, "Wot do you want from me, Weslee? _Eh_? Wot will it fuckin' take?" Shaking her head, her eyes narrowed but never moved from his face, all hope lost in the stubborn mule. She hoped she got sick. Then she could easily blame it on _him_. Let him twist and turn knowing her health was at stake all because of him. He deserved it. She turned, wiping her face best she could, but to no avail. There was no dry point in the middle of a sidewalk, and all clothing on her person was sopping. She could feel the weight pulling on her, but she disregarded this and the chill that ran down her spine. She took a few steps forward, then slowed with an awkward pause. Where was she going anyway? She didn't have much of a plan, but she needed to cool off. Cool off from someone who only thought about themselves and didn't seem to have a care in the world for anyone else. About anyone else. McCarthy's words seemed to echo in her head, striking her a lot colder than any autumn rain could do. Rocking her head back and forth very slowly, she curved her arms under her chest with a hunched back, pushing the whole situation behind her.

"Weevil…Weevil, _fine_! Awright? You win!" she could hear him yell, rubbing her left ear with her shoulder, arms tucked within the other, "Weevil! Come 'ere!....Fine! You 'ear? You win! I…Weevil, I'm…I'm _sorry_, _awright_?" Her left foot gently rested down and couldn't seem to move, although she commanded it to multiple times. He was…what was that word? Apol…apo…apocalypse? Oh, no wait. _Apologizing_. Well, considering both were only going to happen once in the history of forever, either or may have well been the other. A dimly lit beacon… just maybe he wasn't _such_ an arsehole after all. 'Such' leaving a large gap for 'could be', but it was the closest thing she had. Sighing with a slight headache, she peered over her shoulder, watching him as he stared back at her looking quite flustered with himself, as if he had to physically fight with himself in order to get the words out. It _was_ a first; there wasn't a time she could recall where guilt had played a part in Murdoc Niccals' life.

He took a few steps towards her, holding out a hand to tell her something, or reach for her (she couldn't tell which), simply allowing it to drop at his side before she could react to it. He hadn't been sure if it was going to work, but it had been enough to stop her in her tracks, which was a start. He couldn't help but feel…awkward about this. Sure, they had argued about things, stupid things, things that they got over quickly, but…he hadn't pissed her off like _this_ before. And it wasn't like he meant to. It just…happened. And now he had been forced to use that…that _word_ that made him feel as mentally weak as the days his father used to beat him down into the wooden floor, 'mercy' assumed to be a foreign drink. Swallowing hard, he plucked off his shades, curving them in and hanging them off his collar, pushing his matted hair back into a spiky mess, eyes transferring as much sensation as hers had not so long ago, hoping that she'd understand. She had to understand…she knew him best over anyone. Holding her jacket up, the girl met him half way, rubbing her wet nose with her sleeve before rolling it a bit higher, giving him a sharp slap across his cheek.

"Awright." she answered quietly, "But yo' still an arsehole."

Rubbing the tender side of his face, the teen mumbled a bit, albeit a bit sorely, "…I can live wit tha'." The two shared a quiet moment, allowing themselves to be pelted with the ice drops from above, the minute a bit severe to pay any mind to them just yet. Furrowing his brows a smidge, he glanced up with a tilted view in spite of the downy weather, shaking out his soggy hair. A disgruntled chesty sigh escaped him, nodding his head to his right, "_Now_ can we find someplace dry?" Her eyes told him many things. They asked if peace was truly made between them…that she was cold and it was his fault…and that if they went back…she'd expect him to give a full and heartfelt apology to Old Man McCarthy…as gauche as it might be. They also told him that she knew he wasn't in any shape, size, or form to do something like that any time soon. They asked 'where to'? And all this, before she blinked. Looking around, he ignored the thunder that roared at him, twisting and turning on his heels and even herding around her before a simple, "Ah!" murmured from his lips, grabbing her slippery arm to drag her up a stoop into a building arch. It seemed that Murdoc's idea of a dry place lacked the main characteristics. A quick blow of wind could instantly have them soaked (even more so), there was nothing to consider warm unless they rubbed their bodies against brick walls, the ground was a gathering puddle at their feet, and the only thing allowing their hair to slowly dry up was the arch intended to be decoration rather than an awning.

But it would have to do.

She was in the middle of squeezing out her hair when he took off his jacket, pressing it against the wall and watching the water run down the bricks, joining the mini lake at his feet. She couldn't hear what he was grumbling about, but she had a pretty good idea. Leather wasn't exactly the type of jacket one wanted in a rain shower. Neither was her's. She mimicked her friend's actions, a bit easier for her as she crumbled it into a soggy ball and let it all gush out like a miniature waterfall, wrinkly and cold, but no longer heavy. With a sigh she put it back on, shivering a tiny bit. The weight made no difference in comfort. Her arms crossed while she gazed out at the street, barely a car parked around. Most people around these parts used public transportation or walked. A car would've provided her with shelter, transportation, and more, the further she thought about it.

Her mind rolled the idea along long enough before she realized she was in Murdoc's grasp, pressed up against him as he used her head as a rest for his chin. Her gentle decline was sharply reprimanded, his grip along her back tightening, "Keep still, would yeh? I'm cold as 'ell."

The wind sharply smacked them both, a sworn enemy as Murdoc sniffed, releasing only one of the shivers his body wished to vibe. She stood still for a moment, staring off as she thought about what he had just said. Personal gain. He was the cold one getting sick out here, not she. He was the one who wanted to be comfortable and warm, using up her body heat. Pressing against his chest with her palms, she walked him to the other side of the arch, detaching herself with a grunt at his annoyed confusion. Obviously, he had expected her to listen. "Yo' awful selfish, Niccals." she muttered, taking a step back to squeeze her hair again. It was going to get a wavy ring in it, but there wasn't much she could do about it now, "Never asked if I cared." Giving her a stingy pout, he shoved his arms under his pits, glaring at the steps just inches from the metal of his boots, "'e fuckin' got to yeh." he uttered quietly, digging his toe into the pavement. The girl arched a brow at this, wiping her nose with her sleeve.

His eyes pierced into the steps, able to burn a hole in the cement if motivated enough, "McCarthy…Thinks 'e knows everythin' so well just 'cause 'e got years on me…We just can't get along, Weev! We _can't_! An' I'll tell yeh why." he muttered with a sniff, flicking his eyes at her for a moment. Her left hand was tucked into her jeans, the thumb of her right ringing along the beads of her necklaces, lazily leaned with a less than supportive, but still curious expressing mulling. This she had to hear.

"It's because o' you."

The girl's laxed position stiffened slightly, staring at him as nothing more was said. That was his reasoning behind it all? She had expected him to go off on one of his usual theories behind his behavior around the elder. Her arms slowly hung at her sides, peering out into the street before glancing back up at him again, face quite emotionless. His cheeks rose a bit, now narrowing his focus further out, and she couldn't pinpoint at what, "Don't look at me like that. You _know_ perfectly well it's the bloody truth." To this, Weslee said nothing. She surely couldn't agree. The bark between the two men had been there before she came along, but she couldn't deny she had thickened it up a bit. However, she couldn't hold herself accountable for their hatred of the other. What did she have to do with that?

His shoulder hit the right side of the arch, rubbing his nose roughly for a moment before continuing, rubbing his left ear shortly after, "Yo' like the bloke's fuckin' 'oly child or somethin'…the one kid 'ew can do no wrong, the perfect baby 'e never 'ad. To 'im, yo' like the world 'e wish 'e 'ad, aside from everythin' he's awready done; 'e's missin' that small piece, an' yo' the one fillin' it for 'im. An' me?…" he trailed off, giving her an annoyed glance as soon as he spotted the smirk tagging along. Shaking herself hard from the shivers, the girl let out a chuckle, "Yo' 'is nightmare. Is that it?" she poked fun, wishing they had picked, or rather, Murdoc had picked, a better and slightly warmer standing place. Her smile dimmed down at the Brit's seriousness, body trying to mesh with the wall he was leaning on, and was being rejected on all levels. He ran a hand through his hair, slightly less damp and therefore highly spiky when the trail was done, "…I don't see you in that same light." he said quietly, quickly catching her attention, though between him and the rain, he _was_ the more interesting subject. Her head tilted gently, blinking with the innocence her face somehow managed to keep.

"…To me-….to me, yo'…" he tried, face mustering up a very convincing expression of pain, unable to describe this entity in one word. Her hands slowly curved behind her back, one hand hooking into the other as she took a step forward, head still tilted with those wide green eyes. Surely…_surely_ he'd have something nice to say. To be the center of a constant confrontation between an elder and a teen? Murdoc released a heavy sigh with shrugged shoulders, letting his multicolor mix fall on the passerby pedestrian who had been smart enough to carry an umbrella with them, "…Yo' Weevil."

He undid his arms for a moment to scratch at his neck with a single finger, arm jerking in a shiver. What more of a description did he need? Her expression seemed to hold a bit of mystery and awe as well as anticipation. Kicking at a soaked leaf, the boy watched as it became a yellow skid mark on the concrete, "Fuck Weev, the old git an' I won the lottery an' neither of us are willin' teh give yeh up. Sharing's not even a fuckin' option." Her large eyes stared at him, slowly filling with a discomfort, looking out into the rain for a moment. She rubbed her arms behind her, taking a deep breath before rocking on her heels very slightly, a quiet hum escaping her as she curled into the young man's chest, burying her arms within the heavily soaked jacket. She sniffed lightly, poking her thumb into his back when he leaned forward a bit, nodding her head against his left shoulder, "Keep still, would yeh? I'm cold." Rolling his eyes with a small smile, the teen held her close, doing his best to shield them both from the occasional spray with his jacket, "Yeah, well…I'll think about it. Yeh weren't so cooperative a few seconds ago when this could'a been dealt wit."

"Always have teh be an arse about everythin', don't yeh, Niccals. Can't seem to 'elp yo'self."

"Could be a natural trait o' mine, 'ell if I know. Don't complain ova' wot yeh got for free."

Rolling her eyes, the orphan did her best to mentally push away her body's urge to shiver, "Because I got _such_ a great deal." The lad popped her chest off of his with a gentle thrust, receiving a bland reaction from her. "Shit, yo' pissy," he grunted, eying her up as she pulled her arms into a cross. Poking his hands into his front pockets, he ignored the touchy girl, leaning his head back on the arch, "Sho' you ain't on yo' week?" A sharp pain just below his navel woke him into the harsh reality of suffering and anguish. Four cracks popped through the air, then repeated themselves as Weslee took a step back, resting her hands loosely towards the back of her hips. "That's me off it. Can't wait to show yeh when I'm on." Raising his head from the quick drop, Murdoc grit his teeth, catching his breath for the second time that day, "You…fuckin' women…are the dirtiest players…on the face o' this planet." The girl smirked, posting her left leg on the wall behind her, "A bit late for flattery, Murdoc, but I'll accept it all the same." With a sharp swallow, he craned himself up, leaning sideways and resting his right foot on its side, allowing his body to play with the slight pain to let the time pass. He needed something to focus his mind on. He did notice that the rain was now thinning out, no longer coming down in body shattering gushes, but more stream like, not that one could actually walk through it and come out dry or anything. Rubbing his cheek, he let his fingers trail along the stubbles, something he now had to deal with in his journey towards adulthood. Full beards he wasn't too fond of, but other forms of facial sporting was an interesting thought. Perhaps sometime, when he had a neat razor that he was sure Hannibal hadn't used or completely ruined using it for anything else _but_ shaving his face. Using such a tool would result in much bleeding. Murdoc had learned that long ago…the hard way.

It had been close to midnight, Hannibal moping around, nearly lurking in the dark…he could've sworn it was thundering that night, a storm not yet fallen, but brewing something awful…some stray howling their soul out…

Furrowing his brows, the young lad shook his head, outwardly disagreeing with himself. No, that wasn't right. Not even semi close to the voice within his mind. Blinking twice within the second, he tilted his head, realizing that a new passerby was casually waltzing down the block without a care in the world, apparently not worried in the least that he was drenched, nor his boom box. The rectangular beast was perched upon his shoulder, pumping the bass of the static choked song, but this didn't seem to bother the young man none. Instead, he had on quite a large smile, mouthing the words, but not daring enough to sing them aloud.

"…_Under the moonlight, you see a sight that almost stops your heart_…"

A quick grin carved along the bottom of the boy's face, jagged choppers curving in his building excitement. He could easily admit it had become a new favorite of his, this funky, fresh, and hauntingly catchy song. Only a week it had been out, maybe a few days more if played a day or two before he had caught it on radio, but he was sure by now he had a good portion of the lyrics memorized, and that was without the song playing along. The ending was in the bag. Any monologue spewed off by Vincent Price was worth the extra work to remember. The bloke was alright. And the bit was awful catchy and empowering.

"…_You try to scream, but terror takes the sound before you make it_…"

His eyes roamed left, grinning as Weslee's head began to bob, a smile of her own growing in passion for the song, her body slightly swaying to the bass. It was such a tempting song, instantly pulled you in. And under his joker smile, the boy couldn't help but envy that stroke of genius, the ability to captivate the world with a single song, ear gold, as he liked to call it. No one loved music more than Murdoc, no one within a thousand mile radius, that, he'd bet money on. He only listened to the best of the best, not to say he never gave anything else a chance. He absolutely did. From the second the needle hit the record, melody hit his ear drum, to the moment it all came down to silence, and whether he was begging for the silence to come sooner than later, or for the song to never end, he listened through. He pinpointed when each instrument came in, which instrument it was, how long each one played for, how cleverly woven the lyrics were…any tidbit and he could be sure to let you know, then be filled with a bit of pride and confusion over how he was able to spit out the fun facts so easily when it was simple common knowledge. At least, to him it was. And to have that in his hands, to touch that bit of reality…to have more than just one person enjoy his name was the biggest dream he could ask for. That one person knocked into his shoulder slightly, completely oblivious to the world around her as she let her body do the moving and her eyes rested.

"_Thriller night_…"

Poking her shoulder, he popped her from her alternate reality, "An' no one's gunna save you from the beast about to strike." The girl curled her fingers, clawing playfully in the air before him, poking her tongue out. He couldn't help but let out a snort before she grabbed his spotlight and finished the lines off, "You know its thriller! Thriller night! Yo' fighting for yo' life inside a killer, thriller, _tonight_…yeah…" she nodded, grin nearly cracking her face as her friend shook his head at her ridiculous pride. The song seemed to get louder as the radio carrying drone sought out shelter in the next arch over, a bit of static crunching through as Murdoc assumed he was doing his best to now dry the equipment with whatever cloth he had on his person. Within seconds he fixed it to a near perfect reception, yelling a swift, "Woo!" as he cranked the volume up over the rumbling in the sky. No one in the neighborhood ever seemed to mind loud sounds, especially music. If anything, it was viewed as a treat to hear rather than the mundane argument or car backfire. Curling his own bony fingers at her, Murdoc chuckled with a sniff, circling his prey as she did him, "Oy, yeh see the video yet?" Shooting a laugh at his face, she crossed her eyes, craning her neck to the right. It wasn't exactly like she was capable of owning a television or radio. What she saw or heard was from what she borrowed or stole. And a tube required a good source of energy. "Yeah, 'cause I 'ave a telly right in my pocket." she smirked, pulling her left pocket wide to show the vast darkness within. Rolling his eyes, the Niccals boy poked his finger through, receiving a reprimanding slap in return, "Well, shit, took a lot of air from yeh just to say 'no'." he rubbed his hand on his jeans before shoving his finger in the center of his nose to press up at her, "Anyways, its somethin' else. Got dancin' zombies in it."

"Zombies?" she laughed, pulling at the corners of her mouth in response, a sudden excitement shooting through her, "Oh, oh! Look wot I can do!" Dusting his hands off, he arched a brow with a smile, curious at her childish enthusiasm over something that was bound to be less than exhilarating as she made it seem; however, the curve on his face slowly dropped in disturbance as her eyes rolled up, revealing nothing much more than whites and red veins. He did admit, it made her look something awful…like from a horror picture or something with her pale skin and choppy hair, and even more so when she leaned forward, reaching her lanky hand out at him with a up heaved groan, tongue drooling out on the side. "Ugh," he grimaced, pushing her hand away, "That's fuckin' sick." With a blink, her pupils were back in place, glittering with a teasing grin.

"I thought yeh liked 'orror movies an' stuff like that."

"I do." he muttered, nodding his head to the music, "Never said I liked it on you."

Arching a brow with a mischievous smirk, she jerked her head at him, burying her hands within her chilly pockets, "Oh yeah? So wot _do_ yeh like on me?" His gruff and foreboding snicker answered her question, holding his hand out to feel the thickness of the nearly invisible drops. The last rumble was quite low, but the sky was still dark. No doubt there would be another downpour soon, but the rain was getting decent enough to find another hidey hole to bunk out in until they reached the boy's less than cheerful but altogether dry abode. He flicked the drops at her without second thought, a warm smile etching along his features, quietly listening in on the ending of the song.

"_Darkness falls across the land…_

_the midnight hour is close at hand…_

_creatures crawl in search of blood…_

_to terrorize ya'll neighborhood…_"

He allowed the numbing cold to wrap him entirely with a fresh breath, closing his eyes for a moment to take it all in. One day…one day he'd be on top. Write something, perform it…have the world _love_ it. They'd get drunk off it. McCarthy would choke on his own words; he'd regret them if it was the last thing he'd ever do. He'd see. His _father_ would see. Hannibal would see. Weevil…

His eyes popped, sliding over to the girl while her shoulders lurched in surprise, narrowing her eyes before giving them a roll, yet this didn't discourage him in the least. His arms hooked around her, snapping her arms to her sides as he leaned close, muttering in a dangerously calm tone, "And 'ewsoever shall be found…witout the soul for getting down, must stand and face the 'ounds of 'ell…and rot inside a corpses' shell. The foulest stench is in the air, the funk of forty thousand years, an' grisly ghouls from every tomb, are closing in teh seal yo' doom, an' though you fight to stay alive, yo' body starts to shiver, for no mere mortal can resist, the _evil_ of the thriller." he purred, his breath whisping along her neck, no anti-hormone murderous old windbag there to protect his darling little angel from the grasp of a troublemaking delinquent. Her arms gave a weak attempt at getting loose, curling up and around him, eventually finding the nook of his back. There they latched, a lone finger running along the shirt stuck to his skin, resting her cheek against his shoulder, thus blocking him from advancement with her hair. Releasing a slightly irritated grunt, the Brit cradled her a bit closer, nodding his cheek against her temple, lips mere centimeters away from her ear. A gentle breath escaped him, tickling her as she rubbed it away with her shoulder, "Ever a day when yeh use yo' '_ead_ teh think, Niccals?" A slow smile curled along his lips, "On me shoulders?"

Her face disappeared within his soggy torso for a moment, rolling out to greet the world once again with a hearty unavoidable laugh. Her finger poked at one of the studs on his jacket, "Yo' such a bloody…" she started, glancing up at him. His eyes rested down on hers, slightly interested in what she had to say, realizing there was nothing but the pittering of rain pricking the pavement. It seemed the radio man was long gone, or had decided to shut off his entertainment. Her sharp charisma was a skill she was often proud of, able to shoot off her silver tongue without command, however the position she was in had stunned her into arrest. The mint that happened to spice up her eyes was a bit darker, toned down by the…worry…haunting them. His head tilted, bringing his hand to gently brush a few strands from her cheek, her stare chilled and bothered. Knuckles resting near her ear, they slowly curved down to cup the side of her face, quite gentle for the norm. He'd tender up those anxious eyes, nothing a little Murdoc touch couldn't fix. A rush of excitement filled up through the center of his being as he slowly leaned forward, inching ever so close to those soft, delicate, supple lips…surely they tasted as pure as they looked…

"…I chipped 'is tooth that night."

A bit startled at her sudden speech, he held off for a moment and pulled his neck back slightly, mentally slapping himself for the move. His brows flat lined, peering off to the side, and she took his example, following in the same motion. Puffing his cheeks in annoyance, he arched his brow in a twitch. Should've continued on. He had a pretty good idea where they'd be at the moment. The rut of having his best mate be a girl. Of course there was the possibility of attraction, and time _had_ treated the girl well…much to Murdoc's dismay. It hadn't helped him any when she used it to her advantage, either. It was often a simple (or elaborate) tease, mocking him for his one true weakness, not exactly something he could help, mind you. Simply one of the quirks of being a male. And quite deprived of much else in life, a little desperation was bound to hitch up in there over the pile of years. But…she was being vague, and obviously her mind was wandering elsewhere. Her eyes were gazing out at the sodden murky sky, lost within the clouds her head seemed to be submerged in, hiding where it was safe and filled with secrets. He awkwardly cleared his throat, hoping she'd go on to explain why she had ruined a perfectly good opportunity, and it satisfied her need for a reply of some kind, resting her ear against his chest, listening in on the world within. "…You never do let me finish that story."

Murdoc felt his neck muscles tense up, making it quite difficult to swallow. The feeling of chocolate slowly melting down his windpipe wasn't his favorite result of stress, but that was the only true depiction close enough to describe the discomfort that tightened his throat on rare occasions. Why bring _that_ up? A story he'd rather not hear…something that had become the bane of his existence with scars to match…And of all the worse timings in history… His arms slowly dropped, slung around her back as she had him, craning his neck into a curve over her noggin, "Some stories ain't worth 'earin'…an' others are only worth 'earin' once." Lifting her head a bit, he muttered to himself as he pulled back, avoiding her eye contact while she gazed at him directly. Pressing her finger to his lips, she shook her head, eyes focused on his, "I'm a better storyteller." And with this, she slid her hand down, suddenly interested in his chain,

"I wos in yo' room. No one wos 'ome, or so I thought. Felt it would be a proper time to 'ave myself a shower. I wos feelin' grotty, yeh know? So, I grab wot I need, 'ead to the washroom, an' clean up. I realized after I 'ad my trousers on that I forgot me shirt on yo' bed. 'appens sometimes, think you 'ave it all gathered up wit yeh, an' well…anyway, I peek out teh make sho' yo' pop ain't around…wouldn't fancy runnin' into 'im in lace…get to yo' room, close the door, an' see my shirt right where I left it…." she mumbled, nearly in a hypnosis. Her tone suddenly became quieter, softer, "…I didn't notice Hannibal fumblin' around in the closet."

The loose grip on her quickly tightened, as if protecting her now could save her from the situation about to unfold. Her finger tugged between the metallic balls, watching the street lights that had automatically buzzed on reflect in the mirror the chain was providing, "Did 'e reek of beer…dunno 'ow many 'e 'ad that night. Dunno 'ow I didn't see 'im there, either. Think I wos too focused on my thoughts…" Her eyes narrowed as her brows furrowed, "'e grabbed me from behind. Thought it wos you for a second…till 'e got…rough." A growl escaped the protective male, albeit extremely low, she could still feel it rumble through his body. Already things had been said that he hadn't known about. He could feel the anger literally boiling through him, enough to scorch the girl should he explode, but he didn't dare interrupt her. There was more to be said…more to be understood. He could've sworn her last exhale was visible in the air,

"'e tripped me up an' we landed on a pile o' clothes…pinned me down wit 'is fat arse, already half starkers…I guess 'e was on 'is way to sleep everythin' off when I walked in. Well, I shove 'im best I can, knowin' 'is head ain't exactly clear, but 'e 'ad some bloody strength that night…Wos obvious wot 'e wanted…'ad me down, an' well…guess we could say 'e started to '_appreciate'_ my neck. An' 'is hands went a'wanderin'…" she could hear the young man's teeth grinding as he ran his thumb along the back of her arm, seething over the past moment in time.

"Hans realized I 'ad my trousers on still…that wos 'is mistake. Gave me leeway teh grab that bat of 'is from inside the closet. The first whack came when 'e unzipped me…then…then I couldn't 'elp myself." she mumbled, shoving her head towards the nook of Murdoc's armpit, shaking it from side to side, "I kept at it…I don't think I got the gist of wot wos goin' on when it was actually 'appenin'…but once I got free…once I was up on me own two _feet_…I…I refused to give 'im any mercy…" She swallowed the lump in her throat, peering up at the solemn Murdoc Niccals, mind racing to where he had been at that moment when she needed him most. "I kept hittin' an' hittin'…just blood everywhere…that _sound_…it just kept echoing an' wouldn't go away…every time I took a hit, I needed _more_…like the more I struck 'im, the angrier I felt…an' every blow got harder…I lost it." she whispered, closing her eyes, "…Sho' as 'ell got the fuck outta there once I saw 'e wasn't movin'. I couldn't sleep or eat…couldn't think…for days…weeks…Couldn't bare teh face you." she mumbled quietly, glancing down, "Christ, imagine if I would've done 'im in. Don't think I'd be able to live wit myself…"

"'e'll be lucky to survive through _tonight_." Murdoc spat thought grit teeth, "Fucker 'ad a whole different story goin' on…an' that wos days after 'e disappeared. I just guessed 'e got into a fight wit one of 'is mates…Such a _bull_ _shitter_…faces were smashed that night… mine in particular. Broke it square at the bridge." he snuffed, scrunching up his nose for a moment, "'ad me thinkin' you two were…well, awful _friendly_, the bastard."

He suddenly glared down at her, pulling her off and holding her at arm's length, "An' you! You didn't make anythin' easier! Pullin' off all this shit like it wos true! Wot kinda mate are yeh? Stabbin' my bare back when I've been givin' yeh my bed to share! My _bed_, Weevil! All I 'ave teh own in this bloody world, an' I offer it to yeh witout compensation. Playin' all that on me…_Shit_, do you owe me big!" the boy griped, allowing his arms to hang loosely at his sides. It was rare when the Brit allowed his own childlike tendencies to fall out and control him, an emotional ram thrusting about, but an interesting sight none the less. The look on his face was priceless, almost disappointment from the denial of an ice cream cone. His brows pulled up towards the bridge, poking at his face with a crooked finger, "This wos broken over you, Weev…_broken_. Think that didn't 'urt, snapped cartilage an' all that, bleedin' out my brains? I nearly killed him mid story! An' the fact that 'e wos drunk didn't 'elp me a bit edge wise. You know Hans gets more coordinated the more smashed 'e is- an' just wot the 'ell is so funny?" he snapped, crossing his arms sourly at her snickering.

Her arms rung around his neck, pulling him into a semi hug that he was forced to slightly lean into, face buried within her arms and cheek smashed up against her chest (with a few beads from her necklaces molding their way into his skin). "I feel better now that that's off my chest. Guess I can't use wot yeh thought against yeh anymore…seems like jealousy gets you into trouble." she noogied, combing her fingers through his hair. "No," he grunted, tilting his view up, "Hannibal gets 'imself into trouble then expects me teh bail 'im out. An' now it's like I gotta 'ave yeh on a bloody leash. I swear, 'e so much as breathes on yeh, an' I'll…wot?" he grumbled, watching her lips curl as she let him go. Shrugging, she held her elbow as she poked her cheek with a peer outwards, "Oh, nothin'…just remind me of someone, that's all."

Furrowing his brows, Murdoc's lips pulled back into a vicious snarl, quite sure of who she had in mind, "If you utter so much as the sound o' 'is name…"

A small nod noted this cheerfully, "Glad we're on the same page. And…Murdoc?"

"Mm?"

"…Leave Hannibal alone."

His brow arched while she slowly dunked her fists into her pockets, "It's just not worth it…It's all done and over wit…An' I _doubt_ 'e'll ever try that again…I just felt you should know. 'sides…yo' face can't 'andle much more damage." she chuckled, biting her bottom lip as he growled at her. She pinned her arms close, her body trembling for a moment before he cradled her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. A hand came back to feel his face, accidentally poking him in the eye with her emerald painted nail, receiving a low rumbled list of personal curses in response. She laughed gently as he rubbed it roughly with a scowl, ruffling the side of his locks, "Didn't mean teh…just makin' sho'…" His fist made a final shove into his socket before relaxing along her hip, expanding his chest to announce their possible departure from the cramped and drafty space, a small smile arcing along his mug. He lifted his head a bit, lightly brushing his cheek against hers until his lips finally reached a whisper of a kiss along the curve of her face. Quite proud of himself, he leaned back a bit, her hand shoving him farther before turning halfway with an arched brow, a crooked smile twisting across her face, "Cool it, Casanova." she warned in a playful tone, "Wosn't it just two weeks you nearly 'ad that Judy bird?" Tongue gagging out in disgust, the dark teen shuttered, shaking a few drops that still managed to linger within the depth of his hair.

"The bird 'ew vomited on me while tryin' teh suck my face off?"

"Yeah, that's the one."

"Oh, sho'. I'm eager teh catch 'er at the next party."

Her smile stretched into a wide grin, chuckling at the poor bloke's misfortune, but then again, he often asked for it. Any trouble that Murdoc often fell into was his own good fault, and she couldn't quite give him a passing score for any of the girls he had ever hooked up with in the past. Normally a rotten bunch…especially when scoping out possible threats, such as Weslee herself. It was during this time when she would make herself scarce, holding out in other homesteads rather than the Niccals' household, and yet she couldn't help but lather in the golden satisfaction of announcing quite smugly that Murdoc openly and presently shared his home with her, including his bed. And after doing her best to treat the blood sucking man hounds like…well, _humans_, it felt incredibly nice to be able to breathe and reclaim her best friend once again…one who easily saw her way and often agreed that the last had been only good for entertainment purposes. Her hand was gently tugged out, leading her down the steps and into the streets, nothing but a brisk wind doing its best to hug them tightly. The rain had stopped, for now.

Covering a yawn with her left fist, Weslee closed an eye, most of her voice muffled, but understandable all the same, "You 'ave the weirdest tastes in women, Murdoc. Drunken sex crazed addicts…" The grin already plastered on his face began to tweak a bit evilly, rather enjoying the thought. Rubbing her ear, she tilted her head in thought, glancing towards the grimy sky, "Or, is it the other way around?" The two made their way past a stoop surrounded by trash bags, doing their best to ignore the smell wafting due to the rain. A sudden roar forced them both to ignore the scent, necks snapping upwards with grit teeth.

Nothing. Not just yet.

Murdoc sighed in relief, scouting out their surroundings. Nothing much more than resident buildings and the occasional shop. They'd have to hurry. "Are there any other kind?" he asked with a sly grin, nodding his head to lead in step.

"I suppose I'll 'ave to reevaluate my entire life then." Weslee smirked with a punch to her friend's arm, "Not to mention yo's. Didn't know yeh went both ways, mate. The grass greener?" Throwing her hand from his, the future musician shoved it into his soggy pocket, a dour air following him, "It _will_ be when yo' body's fertilizin' it." he grumbled, ignoring her taunting howls of enthused backlash.

"Clever, clever, Niccals. Be sho' to write that one down."

Shaking his head, he hunched over a bit, avoiding a trash can lid blocking his way, "Weevil, there are plenty of others 'ew'd appreciate the position yo' in an' would die for a chance teh be in my presence."

She sucked on her bottom lip with a smirk, "One would think you'd make a fortune as a grave digger, then, hm?" He spun on his heel with a dismal eye, receiving a bump in return from her obliviousness to his pause. Leaning forward a bit, he tilted his head, poking her directly under her chin, "Some would do best to appreciate the finer things in life." Offering him a softer smile, the girl lifted her hand, patting him gently on the cheek. Her eyes never flickered, not even when the sky cracked dangerously and released everything in storage, throwing another wave down at them, "Some would do best to take their own advice." she forewarned lightly, grabbing his wrist as they broke into a run. The rain gushed harder than before, doing their best to push past the thick waterfall, colors and sounds meshing together into a giant pallet of eventual browns, greys, and blacks. Murdoc felt himself drowning, grasping onto the world before him, but the pressure was too heavy, from head to toe, pulling him down…down…his only source out, the tight grasp on his wrist, somehow finding the strength to lead him away from the blinding mess before him…but the more she pulled, the less real everything seemed to be…aside from the pain…the unbearable searing pain shooting up his left arm and into his very soul, stealing his voice from him, nothing more than a wail of utter anguish. A surge of vomit dared to collapse his throat before suctioning back down in a vacuum, bubbling out his desperate gasps of suffocation.

He could still feel the rain on his face, trickling down from his drenched shaggy do, doing his best to breath in and out, saving himself from that drowning sensation; however, he wasn't alone. The grip on his wrist never left. It was rather strong for a lead, so much he could feel a slight numbing at the very tips of his fingers…something that only happened when he played long hours on his bass. Bass? He didn't own a bass…not yet, anyway. Often "borrowed" said instrument from a mate or two until they threatened for it back.

"…Murdoc?"

Wiping his face with his right arm, the multicolored mix wearily opened, confused and disoriented beyond comprehension. They slowly fell on his hand, suspiciously inspecting the water droplets lining his palm, much too slimy to be from an outside source. His neck rolled back, staring up into the dark ceiling protecting him from the mess outside. Shadows of couches…a slim outline of the plasma…and the faraway thuds of the rain drops flicking against the glass before rolling down in races into the sill. Inside…he was inside. For a moment fear overtook him, pitch darkness overcoming his vision, however a gentle hush soothed his anxiety, relaxing his stretched fingers. He allowed the cooling cloth to wipe away the nasty array of sweat gathering along the nooks of his face, pressing down on his eyes for a moment before it was lifted, a gentle breath of air doing its best to dry him off a bit. "Murdoc, can you hear me?"

His first throat cleanse failed, backed up with thick saliva and chunks of stomach remnants that hadn't gone down or up completely, his right fingers rubbing along his Adam's apple before giving it a gentle tap, using all muscles in the area to scrape it all out and swallow it whole. Licking his lips, he offered a single nod, chewing along the inside of his cheek, "Kkhhmm….Y-Yeah…" A cool ceramic was pressed against his bottom lip, and he welcomed it hesitantly, twisting his lips against it before finally allowing the clear liquid to rush down and wash him out.

"…You're dehydrated."

"….M-Mm…"

"I am going to have water by you. Just take slow sips; do not gulp. That will only make you vomit. Water will keep you stable. Hopefully." she ended quietly with an awkward pat to his hand, and he rolled his head to the side to see what she was doing. Taking his pulse along his wrist…now it made sense…His eyes gradually closed, capping over in faint interest, lifting his right pointer to scratch an itch on his shoulder. The hand shook with chills, rubbing along his eyes and punching at the bridge before he uttered, "Beer…"

"No," the voice gently denied him, the Asian slowly placing another cooler rag along his brow, "I just want you to have water, Murdoc. Anything with flavor will destroy your stomach at the moment, especially something as pungent as beer. Cannot have you falling in and out of consciousness again." she noted, glancing up from her inspection of her own handiwork as his weakly scrunched nose. He sniffed quietly, resting his neck back once more, "…I went out?"

"Like a dimming light."

"…Shit…"

"…You were doing very well. Then…the words began to slur and I ran to get your some water…" she shrugged innocently, patting the completed side with a wet towel, her eyes flickering up for a moment, "You were gone. Only a quarter of a minute, but I assume you have not been able to keep anything down as of this morning, and so you are fatigued. I will have you eat a piece of toast to settle your stomach. It is about the only thing that will stay put, if anything."

The bassist released a lengthy breath, Noodle accepting this as an answer. She tapped her finger along his undamaged skin, furrowing her brows before nodding, stretching herself out of her crunched position. Her hands steadied the man's arm along the bucket as she rose, quickly but delicately gathering herself to her feet, "I will be right back. Do not move the arm." She doubted he would even if he wanted to as she sprinted into the kitchen and made her way into the sink, scrubbing her hands clean before touching anything else. Her eyes stared off as her hands (as if by memory) undid the twist tie of the sliced loaf, scooped out two, and twirled the plastic wire around the bagged plastic once more. Weslee Gunther…Never once had Murdoc talked about her before, and one would think such a valued friend would be a pride for the bassist to thrust out. As far as she could remember, there had never been a call on the Caller ID from such a person…no mail…pictures…anything.

In her years, Noodle had heard some odd stories of Murdoc's younger days, often within the band life of his previous flops, but aside from a few thoughts of striving for a freedom within music, Murdoc's recollection barely met half way with his present. These were days when the boy was simply being who he was, and it didn't necessarily require his obsession with music…just his growing love of it. He was discovering…tasting…molding himself into the man she was familiar with. But…but how did any of his story have to do with his abnormal choice in religion? If anything, this "Weevil" girl sounded quite sane, especially having struggled all of her life. Noodle was quite familiar with overemphasis on a good story, materializing events that never quite happened, idealizing favorites to the point of a god like status…however…she couldn't help but believe every word that left Murdoc's mouth. There was something about the way he made her sound…all the nitpicked details to the very last colored nail…she seemed more real to her than the toast currently smoking within the slots of the toaster. Snapping out of her daze, the axe princess picked at the two pieces, blowing on them gently, slightly disappointed in herself. They weren't too horribly burnt. A few scrapes from a knife would do the job rather nicely.

A few minutes later, Noodle stepped back into the living room with a small plate of shaved toast slices and another glass of water. She gently placed them on the table beside him, guiding his hand to grab the first piece, quickly warning him, "Small bites, Murdoc. Chew your food, get used to the taste." She knew instantly from his grumble that she wasn't exactly getting on his best side, but it was for his own good. Without repetition, the bass player would do it his own way, and honestly, nothing that had gone his way today had gone right. "Eat away from your arm." she further noted as he crunched carefully, tilting his head on the arm rest in an awkward twisted position with the rag still over his eyes. Noodle repositioned herself on the couch, taking a deep breath before grabbing the dangling needle, halfway done. Her fingers clutched the tool anxiously, pinching along his skin dexterously, "Murdoc?"

"Hm?" It came out much clearer, with a little more power.

"How come…you've never mentioned Weslee before?"

He made no motion, even when she pricked his skin as the next stitch went through. Her eyes lingered up for a moment, trying to read what she could from the bottom half of his face, but that seemed to have frozen in a moment of thought or purposeful silence, she couldn't be sure which. She readied herself for the next loop when he answered quietly, "…The story thing is stupid, Noodle…Just finish up, would yeh? My arse is 'alfway asleep…" Furrowing her brows, the teen shook her head firmly, poking one of his fingers with her own.

"No, it has proved itself useful. I was able to catch you when you knocked out. If I cannot determine if is to happen again, you could end up leaning this way or forward, and rip out all the stitches. Besides," she added tenderly, rubbing his skin clean, "…You have not answered my question."

"The answer to yo' question should be irrelevant to the present."

"But it _isn't_. Is it, Murdoc?" she growled, grinding her back teeth with a glare. He wasn't about to pull out of this one so easily. Flicking off the rag, the frontman kept his eyes closed, the obvious stress from the years weighing down on him. Again would he have to remember? So vividly? So close? He had promised to never go there again…not as long as he lived.

"_Hate_ this story…" he sharply hissed, directly from the chest, swallowing hard as he gave the girl a cold glare. His eyes fell upon his arm, head shaking for a moment before mentally shaking himself free. She wanted the truth. His worst enemy. He nipped along his thumb at a hangnail, eyes on his boots. She wanted to understand him. To figure out that piece of the puzzle that always seemed missing. Or perhaps to simply know him, break the barrier between them that had never been quite properly dealt with before. She wanted the demonic key to his Satanic door? To know why he was so entirely filled with such devastation that he could easily lash out without remorse? So be it. His eyes narrowed, snapping back up to her, a strangely uncomfortable newfound strength in his voice, "You want the end o' that story?"

Noodle stared at him quietly for a moment, slowly lowering her tool. He took a deep breath, exhaling as he closed his eyes, relaxing every muscle possible. It was minutes before he spoke again, doing his best to gather the words. He hadn't shared this story with anyone…hadn't ever intended to…and yet…he had one true, eager listener. One who could…and would maybe appreciate it…everything…the way he did. His fingers curled in slightly, unable to hide the twitch in his voice, "Then we went to the church…"

* * *

**Author's Note**: Oh, aren't I a cruel one. Looks like the next and final chapter will have everything in it. And I leave you on another cliff hanger. Am I just that malicious? Is it wrong to grin so happily at the thought of leaving an audience suspended for more? I truly will work on the ending to get it done as soon as possible. None of this four month rubbish I pulled as one reviewer pointed out. And I suppose I could post how quickly I'm updating and if any new story ideas are in the works through Twitter. Probably post that link up in my profile for those who are waiting for more. Gotta use that site for _something_. Well, I'm off! Ta.


	5. Part 5

**Author's Note**: I _liiiiiive_. See, I try not to ever forget a story, especially one where I keep getting reviews and pms about people loving it so dearly and wanting it continued so badly. It does my heart good, it really does, especially since oc's tend to have a bad connotation to them. But you lot really seem to like Weslee. And so there's this chapter. I'm not even going to say its the last, because it's not. PFF. Possibly the last chapter will be chapter 6, and won't that make sense, being Murdoc's number and all.

Honestly I was on quite a hiatus from writing these kind of stories because I've been majoring in animation the past 2 years and it takes quite a lot out of you. Also, I'm required to create my own characters and stories, which I have, and those (including fanart) are all located on my Tumblr and Vimeo Accounts (noted in my profile). You lot can take a gander at those if you're interested in what I've been doing for the past 2 years of life. I also doodled a little pic of Weevil and Muds as children (its my new icon), and I probably plan to draw them at teens sometime soon, just for fun. Realized I never drew her as I saw her in my mind. Well. Without further ado, the story goes on.

* * *

Part 5

_Blue…it was blue. No, white. That made more sense._

His jaw clenched, every muscle tensing for a moment in frustration before relaxing and releasing a gentle beat to his ears. _Truth, Murdoc. Tell the __**truth**__._

"It wos…grey." his voice whispered, trying to fall back, trying to unlock. His eyes slowly opened, concentrating on the young woman nursing his arm. His mouth was dry…impossible. He had just sipped some water. But his throat burned. Burned with scarlet fever…like blistered winds…as a coal to the fire…His voice was different to him, ears tuned to a different channel. _Please…don't…_

He had to. Had to say…had to…

The bassist's fist clenched, taking a deep breath as a wave of nausea overcame him, but as far as he could tell, it hadn't been from his arm. Not from the cold, or toast trying to digest in his stomach. "Christ…" he muttered, which made honest sense, but the teen understood it was from the stress he was undergoing. Her fingers daintily looped in another stitch, swirling within the other to make a decent knot hold, eyes following from the tip of his shoulder down to the end of his elbow, curved weakly over her bucket, fingers faintly hooked on his clammy palm. With every breath, his muscles would convulse into a tight band, forcing the stitches to tug at the bits of skin they were attached to. Much more of this, and they were liable to pop or induce further damage. But she knew….she knew he couldn't help it. Whatever this was…whatever had happened…

Murdoc had kept it in for a long time.

The young woman rested the needle along his arm, simply balancing adjacent to the wound, and timidly lifted her fingers up and over, trying her gentlest to wedge them into his locked grip. With the other, her palm curved over his trembling knuckles, offering him a tender squeeze. She couldn't keep working with him in this state, but she couldn't force him out of it either. She understood he needed someone…anyone…or anything…but she didn't know who, or what, or even how it could affect him…calm him down. She felt the tips of her fingers drain of their circulation, but Murdoc was going through much worse. There was no need or urge to complain. Her dark emeralds looked up at his relentless determination, staring out at everything and nothing, his mind falling in and out of consciousness. His eyes twitched, searching around for things that weren't there, and it raised his chest faster and faster with each passing second. She could hear his rapid breath, his lungs trying to maximize their power through his nose, but it was only fogging up his thoughts, and ultimately making him worse.

"S-Stone…" he coughed out before a hacking gag cut him off from the rest of his statement. Shaking her head, the young woman pressed two fingers against his shoulder blade, pressing him back into the cushioned backrest as his chest continually popped with each cough until they slowed into a rough scrape of the throat. The eldest released a sigh through puckered lips, a weary groan too powerful to cover up at his very best. The multicolored mix glazed over with the crack of his neck, keeping the girl in focus. His brows furrowed for a moment until realizing her right hand was trying to comfort his left, and slowly his fingers unraveled, allowing hers to breathe for a moment. Her smile was small, but curious, and he was sure it was the last thing his eyes focused on before she replaced the soothing rag over his vision.

A groan…smoother, but faint, like one drifting into a disturbed dream. Again, he felt his hand being grasped, the sweat of his palms making the grip lose and slimy. He did his best to keep his fingers twined, and strangely enough it didn't affect the pain in his arm. Those stitches…he had to be careful. All of her hard work…hard work…who's hard work? What…had they been working on? The hand almost slipped out, and his knuckles tightened, a quick jerk nearly throwing him off his seat. Sitting? No. Stitches? Who was…?

Oh, great. A tear along his sleeve. When had that happened? He glanced down at the cuff, thrusting a finger into the rip, flicking off the hanging threads sticking to his wet skin. Fantastic. His beloved studded jacket on its way to shreds. Well, all was not entirely lost. Weevil was pretty good with a thread and needle. She could sew it up, no problem. It was just getting her to do so…Sewing _was_ a woman's job after all. But be it far from him to tell her so. That was just asking for a blunted eye. Weevil? He looked up, another quick jerk. He squinted through the mess around him, feeling the thuds of water all along his exposed skin…able to smell the moisture in the air…

There she was. Leading him as best she could in an attached sprint, he barely able to hold on. The rain was making the grip weak and slippery. She suddenly stopped, and he slammed right into her, an arm wrapping around before she could bounce off too far. He leaned his head down next to hers, wincing when the crack of thunder drowned out most of her sentence. Shaking her dripping locks, she pinched his cheeks in her palm, steering his view down towards the left. There was nothing down further but a few more buildings, a closed car garage, and a…church. "Th-urch!" she tried again, glaring up at the cause of her yelling and broke into another run with Murdoc close behind. He ran a hand across his face, doing his best to clear his vision, but it was no use. Too much rain and not enough protection overhead. A strong chill ran through his spine. The water was getting colder; he was willing to bet everything he owned on that.

The gravel under his boots crunched and slurped when he skidded alongside the girl, staring up at the large and ancient establishment. The bricks were rather large and fat, resembling much of a castle along with the grand arch and mini towers on either side of the pointed roof. The steps appeared to be marble, chipped and slippery with the rain pounding away, the railings and doors as dark as Weslee's hair. There were two windows on each door, six in all, lined up neatly with colorful glassed pictures shimmering in the dark abyss. There had to be light inside…and perhaps warmth, but the best bet they had was the option of a roof over their heads, and that was one they were eager to take up on. Weslee nodded up at the doors, tugging at the future bassist's wrist with impatience. "Stand there wit yo' mouth open an' yeh'll drown, Niccals. We can look at the outside later, let's say, oh…when it's _not_ stormin' down on our 'eads?" she grunted, taking a handful of the cold, slimy rail.

Her mouth tugged down in a grimace before wiping her hand along her jeans, marking the slime into her thigh. The sixteen year old slowly lowered his eyes on her, her hand on the door's iron handle with her brows furrowed, her interest aimed on him. What was taking so long? "Oy, Niccals!" He slowly blinked, his hand resting along the marble rail on the outskirts of the steps, sliding his fingers until they met with the grey stone, smooth and bumpy as could be. His nail scratched along the sealant in between the bricks, pinching the debris between his fingers before glancing up once again. Her eyes seemed to glow in the dark, mint green piercing through, the annoyance swept away by worry, blinking into the dark as another crack over powered sound. She reached out a dripping hand, brows pushed up as she took a small step forward, "Murdoc? …Yeh awright?"

Glancing at his hand before offering it to her, the teen shook his head, a familiar smirk crossing his face. "Yeah, fine, fine. Let's get in, eh?" She grabbed the hand about to open the door behind her, looking up in scrutinizing determination, but he couldn't help but keep the smile. Her grip on his hand was quickly loosened as she tossed it back to him, crossing her arms, "You know wot I do to liars, Niccals."

"Yeah," he smirked, nudging her a bit, "Yeh ought to try it on me. I'd be much obliged."

The girl rolled her eyes, pushing him back before yanking the door to its groaning greet, darting in before another chilly wave could soak them through. They appeared to be in a mudroom of sorts, not exactly in the main room of the church, but simply through the second set of doors and that would clear that. The mudroom was walled in light wood, a few plaques nailed up here and there among a cross identical to the one hanging along the young woman's chain. Adjacent to each door was a small rectangular table loaded with piles of pamphlets, a vase of flowers, a few rosaries, and a deck of prayer cards for multiple occasions. Between these objects was a triple set candle piece, glowing now along with the electric light from above, bathing the small room in a warming yellow-orange. It trailed along the walls down to the beige colored tiles beneath them, mostly covered by a scarlet hall carpet, bits of lint decorating it in hopes that they would be cleared off by morning. However, none of this interested either of the teens much in comparison to the radiator on their left.

Before they could say a word, their backs were along the wall, trailing down until the cozy warmth reached out and tingled along their skin. Within seconds their coats were stripped, and they laid quietly, eyes closed in silence. The rain was a pleasant thing to listen to when it wasn't there to attack. The quiet could have lulled both teens into a cozy sleep had they not been wearing chilled, soaked clothing, forcing them to jaggedly shiver between breaths. The pale woman leaned forward for a moment to rub her neck, curving her fingers along her neck to rid of any strands before twisting it out to free up the weight dragging down her head. It was when she leaned back to retrieve the warmth lost during this act that she felt his arm awaiting, pulling her closer to him as she opened her eyes with an arched brow. He still seemed to be in his relaxed state of mind, eyes closed, chest calm, aside from the occasional chill spasm, but otherwise tranquil. He curled her into his shoulder, resting his cheek atop her head before she pinched his side, a small grin in pride of the pain she had inflicted. "Yo' lucky I don't knock a tooth loose." she mumbled, making herself comfortable in his grip. Her cheek nuzzled against his shoulder before grabbing it as her cushion, tugging it close before curling her legs in under her.

"Always a big talker…but yeh don't act on wot yeh say, do yeh, Weev?" His voice was barely above a whisper, his back pressing further into the cover of the heater. She tilted her head up, but his eyes were still closed, still absorbing as much heat as he could. Her eyes gently rolled, closing as well, "Mmm…an' I'm sho' this 'ad nothin' to do wit the fact that we don't 'ave our jackets on, right?" The boy's serene facade pulled away in seconds, a wicked smirk curving along his features. Nothing could truly ever get passed that girl. His left hand lifted a bit, altering its position as it tenderly rested along her thigh, thumb offering an affectionate rub where it had landed. The circulation in his arm paused for a moment, throbbing back into the rest of his body as soon as his fingers curled into a balled fist...Absolutely nothing.

"I'm warnin' yeh, Niccals…if I catch yeh peekin' down…"

"Might as well sit on the other side o' the buildin'."

"Well to be decent for once." the girl chuckled, playing with one of the rings on his fingers. Her head lightly bounced from the nudge.

"Well, 'ew told you to go an' be such a _girl_?"

Snorting, Weslee bumped him back, "I do apologize. I'll try an' work on that."

The younger teen's eyes opened slowly, staring off at the other side of the room. It looked awful lonely on that side. His cheek plopped further into her wet scalp, his pointer tapping against her thigh. She glanced down for a moment, ready to slap the thing off entirely when he rested his knuckles down, stretching out his hand hopefully. Her eyes lingered on the limb before cautiously offering it one of her own hands, curling it up in his mighty grip, continuing the tender rub along her knuckles. A small smile broke through the shadowed half of the girl's lips, giving it a small squeeze as he mumbled, "Make sho' yeh do…people might start to get attached…" The smile morphed into a smirk. People.

The girl yawned gently, adjusting her seating as the clouds above roared at them down below, but there was no longer any need for alarm. They were safe now. The boy's latest shiver jerked him front, a few water droplets launching in the same direction. He glared down, taking the hand that was occupied to brush off the water running down his arms. Weslee rubbed her nose while watching the teen attack himself dry, or as best he could get to dry. After a moment of this, his fingers curled at the edges of his tee, peeling it off completely to wring it out. The girl arched a brow as the edges of her mouth curled, pulling her knees up to lean on. This would prove to be interesting.

After shaking the now dark grey shirt, Murdoc patted the material off before setting it gently on the lip the cover had on the wall. By the time the rain was over it should be decent enough to wear. He would merely have to turn the sides every so often for an even dry. Shaking his hair out, the boy brushed the few strands from his eyes, glancing over at the one doing her best to keep a straight face. Ignoring this, he pressed his flesh against the radiator, this time feeling the full intensity of the warmth it was offering him, and smiled. Now, he was comfortable.

His eye opened lazily at the gentle thumping next to him. Weslee was removing her sopping sneakers, the material peeling away just as heavily as her socks were. By the second sock, Murdoc was the one struggling to keep a grin off his face. However, his friend was quite sensitive to any little action or thought passing though, and could pick it up within seconds. "Wot?" she demanded with a playful gravity, crossing her arms over her knees. Lifting his shoulders, the Niccals boy kept the smirk on, eyes slightly capped in a sleepy calm gaze, "Jus' beginnin' to like where this is goin', that's all." Shaking her hair out with a lazy ruffle, Weslee rested back, keeping her knees perked as her back slouched, chin poking into her chest. "Sorry, Niccals. This is where the strip tease ends." the girl chuckled darkly, lifting her foot to wiggle her multicolored toes.

His mismatched eyes rolled, slugging down to her level. "Figures…" he muttered, fingers trailing down her arm until the last two hooked onto hers. They gazed along her chipped and faded nails, rolled over his shiny rings, onto the bloody colored carpet, and steered along the few objects decorating the room, staring off at each one as if entranced by their very presence. So…so this is what it was like inside a church. Or at least a part of it. Odd. His lips nearly pouted in rare disappointment. Disappointment he had never experienced before, for disappointment was a thing common in life, and especially his of all lives. But…he had just…well…His eyes focused on the cross, tracing every inch of it as his chin dug deeper into his chest, a vast emptiness expending in his stomach. Fingers of his free hand rubbing along his chest, he sniffed lightly, ignoring the roaring threat outside. His eyes pulled back down as Weslee gently tugged the two digits into her palm, curling back a bit more into the heat, eyes closed, "Yo' quiet."

He gazed up at the ceiling. Nothing interesting there. Was there supposed to be?

"Yeah…that's the sound you 'ear when no one is talking."

A quick pinch. Well, he supposed he deserved that.

"Wot are yeh lookin' at?"

His lips curled a bit, closing his eyes for the moment, "Nuthin' at all."

Her eyes lazily lifted open, arching a brow as she glanced at him. True to his word, his own eyes were shut, but he couldn't fool her. He never could, and he knew it. "I meant when yo' eyes were open, Niccals. Yo' never one to be quiet for long…an' it wasn't me yeh were focused on." she added with a teasing smirk, knowing she had him the moment his left eye popped open to her. The other slowly opened, taking another tour of the room before closing once again, his chin tilting up towards the ceiling, "Stuff in the room…I dunno…always expected it to be a bit more…mmm…'showy' I guess. Not really sho' wot I was expectin'."

Weslee tilted her head curiously, lifting herself a bit as she flicked a few droplets off of her shoulder. Minty greens focused as hard as they could, memorizing each and every little detail of every object and piece of furniture in the small enclosure, wondering what the teen meant by that. What had he been expecting? Chairs made of gold and books with silver threading? Pinching a piece of fabric off the carpet, she spun it between her fingers, curling over her knees again. Back and forth…back and forth…her arm swung around her legs, peering over it to peek at him. His eyes were still closed. "Wot do yeh mean?"

He shifted slightly, resting his shoulder blades comfortably, "Never been to a church before."

The girl's eyes popped in surprise for only a moment, realizing this fact to be true. But she could hardly consider it something worth fretting over. Tossing the thread, she rested her chin down, eyes still on him, "You know, I never thought about that. Yo' old man not takin' yeh anywhere, I mean."

"A church, no less."

"Ain't exactly the religious type, is 'e?" she added with an empty chuckle, both knowing how hellish the eldest Niccals could be on a good day. She doubted her protective barrier could keep him from Murdoc in the least. He would plow them both down if he had the opportunity. And Murdoc would end up in prison for the murder of his own father if he dared lay a hand on her…it was best if she remained far from their family affairs, something she managed to handle quite well, aside from her one tiny incident, but she had handled it. It was interesting how she was able to avoid that man…she wondered if he even knew of her residence there on multiple occasions over the years. And he rarely entered his sons' room for anything…with her bound to Murdoc's side by fate or fortune, she had felt safe enough…safer than most places she had ever dormed at, that's for sure.

"Wouldn't say that," the scruffy lad muttered, curling his fingers over his belly with a sigh, body going through a slight shiver before he continued, "'e worships the bottle pretty steadily, I'd say." He remained quiet for a second, thinking back on his original thoughts. Opening his eyes, he pulled himself upright, stretching out one leg as the other lifted up in a stretch, cracking his knuckles while doing so. His back was beginning to hurt, not to mention what the hard floor was doing to his arse. He'd need to inflate it if this kept at it. Rotating his shoulders, he pinched along his left, glancing at Weslee, "Could've sworn a place like this would've been a little more…,"

His eyes roamed entirely around the room before falling back on her, "I dunno…magical."

The serious gaze she had on him fell apart in mere seconds as a snort broke through, eying him in wonder. "Magical?" she nodded in question, knowing he was already regretting his statement, "Disney World, is it?"

"Oy, fuck off…I wos jus'-oof!"

His brows furrowed down as he smacked away her palm that had jutted into his gut, quite unannounced. It had been quick and hard, and narrowly knocked the wind out of him in his relaxed and seated position. The annoyance was written along his sharpened features, but hers retained a more stern appeal, and oddly curious, if anything. Her eyes trailing along above before pausing on the doors leading into the main chamber of the building, snapping back to him along with the rest of her face as she held a finger to her lips. "Wotch yo' mouth, would yeh? Inna' church, yeh know." the young woman reprimanded, lowering her hand to her lap. Staring off at the door they had come in through, Murdoc crossed his arms, leaning back once again, though sorely. He wasn't fond of scolding, but even worse over situations he was sure Weslee was serious about. She often wore that hippie bead of a rosary around her neck, but neither had really discussed such topics of religion (nor politics). No one had really ever brought it up. But he couldn't help but feel awkward and out of place when it came to such things. What was he supposed to believe in? That all derived from apes? That there were hundreds of gods out there, each for their own specific purpose? That there was one, and only one, watching every move he made?

That he was loved and should feel special among all the other humans in this filthy world he had learned to call home? That he would come back over and over after death until he had learned to live life right? That he would simply end, and that was all there was to it? That there was a set place for you based on your actions in your mortal life? There were too many options for such a final eternity…how was anyone to choose? To grow into what one knew as religion…well that made sense to him…and honestly it was the simplest way to go. To be told what to believe…well anyone could do _that_. After all, he believed his teachers when they told him M-u-r-d-o-c spelled his name, hadn't he? And he had been a mere child. But he was no longer a child…on the brink of manhood, really, if not already. Drink, food, lust…they were not new to him. He had experienced it all. What he knew now was what he would always know, and he had learned it the hard way. Life was only to add more to the pile he had already claimed as his own. Who had been there the entire time, comforting him from the loneliness?

No one.

Who had woke him up with words of encouragement, promising the new day would bring something better?

No one.

Who had protected him from the evils of the world…from the hatred of his father…from the beatings of his brother…from the disgust of his teachers and peers?

No one.

Who had bothered to acknowledge him…give him the time of day…to make him feel like more than the spit dirt the world seemed to treat him as? To care for him, or even pretend to? To…love…him?

His eyes were burning with rage, feeling the tightening in his chest get the best of him. Religion? Is this what the thought of religion did to him? It was merely something to addict one's soul to…to feel as if their lives actually had meaning in the world of forgetful humans. No one wants to be forgotten, but that was the true joke of life. Unless you are famous…history in the making…you are forgotten…and at some point, all are forgotten. That was something he could easily believe in. Disappointment. Anger. Grief. Those seemed to follow him wherever he went, whatever he did, whoever he spoke with. His fingers clenched roughly, digging into the palms of his hands so tightly they lost their color, killing the cells along the area. He couldn't let that happen…not to him…he couldn't…

"I used to sleep in a church a while back. Only a few days. The benches are 'ard, but can't complain. It wos a roof over me 'ead."

Her voice broke through his silent antagonism, not a clue to what was going through his mind at the moment. She was gazing opposite of him, a small smile perked along her lips as she combed through her hair with her fingers, doing her best to separate some knots. His eyes blinked rapidly, as if being sucked out of his world of hate and despair, back into a world he shared with Weslee Gunther…that one girl who…

His stare fixated on her, watching her calmly as she explained her short stay among one of the churches in the area, and of the interesting characters she had become acquainted with along the way. Her lips moved tenderly as her weary but animated eyes twitched with every other word she felt was humorous, and with her he smiled, quietly, hushed. Her body still shook with the cold of the winds outside, but she was fighting it like the rough houser he knew her to be, tucking her knees in tight to her chest while she waved her right arm from here to there, describing a small story in which she had discovered what holy water was used for, and how tiny bits of bread were offered every mass, "hosts" she called them, giving her hair another ruffle before tucking a bit behind her ear…the side that faced him. She was pale, and wet, rough from the emotional hide she had learned to grow over the years, freckles glittering along her cheeks as she spoke with a gentle yawn, a fist leaning against her eye as she continued, so small, yet bountiful. And like such things, he could only watch from afar, like one to a bird. She was bound to fly off if he tread too close…but he couldn't help it, and she knew that. It was she…she who…

…was his…his...every and any role he could think of.

And he couldn't imagine things any other way.

His friend, his mother, his sister…filled. An encouraging father, a protective brother, a polite stranger…done. His eyes glazed for a bit as he stared, unsure when he had gotten lost in her words, whether it was after the word "goblet" or before the phrase "choir of the mass". His chest lifted for a moment with his inhale, releasing a slow breath with thoughts of his teacher…his childhood…his reason. And with the sudden snap of her fingers, he woke back into the world entirely, no longer angry nor disappointed in what he did not know. The lad knew full well, _finally_, and he understood with a rather large smile, her brow arching high in questioning his motives. Never could be too relaxed around a Niccals. But it was her, and it had been all along. How simple of him not to notice. How full of himself he had been. Far too lost in the torment of everything thrown at him he had never bothered to see what was right in front of him. _Who_ was right in front of him. Had _always_ been in front of him. He couldn't feel more foolish.

He believed in Weevil.

There was nothing that could be clearer than that. "Awright, wot is it, Niccals? Wot's wit the goofy grin? S'givin' me indigestion." she irked with a poke, sliding her fist under her nose with a sniff. Brushing her hand away, the teen shrugged, the smile lingering, "Don't worry yo' pretty lit'tle 'ead about it. Yeh just 'ave a lot teh say for a stay so short." Rolling her eyes with a shrug, she scratched along the top of her head for a bit, finally finding the spot she had been searching for. "Wos just' fillin' yeh in on 'ow stuff works around 'ere. Yeh learn to learn quite a bit in short intervals, especially in my case. I'm not one for stickin' around too long. You know that." The young woman flopped to her knees, arching her back in a stretch while her arms reached above. It was nothing less than pleasing for her friend beside her, debating whether or not to intervene in such a tease, but by the time he had made up his mind, she had fallen to her belly, curling her knees in as they floated lazily in the air, eyes focused on the bits of debris ensnared within the carpet's grasp.

Quietly, she picked each piece, setting it into a tiny pile before her. Shaking his head, he smirked. How quickly she could entertain herself was beyond him, and with bits of garbage, no less. Lifting his straightened leg, Murdoc curled up the other, resting on the other side of his rear. The chills were beginning to subside, thankfully. Poking his thumb into one of the few bullet holes in his jeans, the boy pondered on the teen's comment. It was true. She hardly ever stayed in one place for long, except when she was openly welcome at the Niccals household, which was always, but certain exceptions to the rule had to be made whether they liked it or not. And nights without Weslee felt very empty indeed, but he couldn't hold her to that. It wasn't her fault he had…well…gotten _attached_, rather. He couldn't entirely blame it on himself, either. But during those nights, whether his bed was empty or not mattered not to him…if she wasn't there, it might as well be…his thoughts often wandered to her current placement…her safety…and if whoever else she was putting her trust in (something he didn't like to think about at all) was doing by her well.

It was something, along with religion and politics, they had never discussed. And probably for good reason…but he couldn't help but wonder…

Picking off a piece of shredded paper from the floor, Murdoc rolled it between his fingers, muttering to his chest as he kept his eyes on the carpet, "Erm…Weev. There's somethin' I've been meanin' teh ask yeh…" The tiny pyramid she had been constructing out of garbage toppled into a heap before she glanced over her shoulder, brows furrowed curiously. Strange. His voice sounded odd. Almost as if he had wished to whisper, but miserably failed. Then again, the acoustics in the room were horrible. The thunder outdoors reminded her of that.

"Hmm?"

His eyes never left the little ball between his fingers. "When yo' not…yeh, know…wit _me_. Where do yeh go?" His eyes finally met hers, an awkward curiosity filling the air around them. Well, that was new. He hadn't asked her that before.

"Wull," she shrugged, piling back her pyramid from scratch, "Different places, I suppose."

The ball flicked from his grip, "You sup_pose_? Wot's that supposed to mean? Yo' the one steerin', ain't yeh?" A small smirk curled along her lips as she set another piece, "Pfft…touch-y." She continued on her little game, coughing when a heavy thudding weight lined along her back, pressing her gut further into the ground than she had planned. "Christ, Murdoc. Lose a few pounds, would yeh? Yeh nearly flattened me." He merely pressed his gut harder against her back, resting his elbows on the carpet to her left. It was a position they had grown accustomed to from young. Space could hardly be said for the room the boys shared, and some days the bed just didn't seem to spread out enough to use a human pillow.

The room remained an awkward quiet until she glanced over her left shoulder, realizing he was merely peering at her patiently, awaiting her answer with a prying gaze. "Wot, seriously?" she grunted, shifting her back as it cracked a bit, but he didn't move. Flicking her creation with a sigh, she propped her head up on her palm, staring off at the empty side of the room, "Churches…sometimes the 'omes…tried to avoid those…a mate's pad 'ere an' there…yeh know. Took where I could, an' I still do." she shrugged, glancing over when Murdoc pulled at the floor material. He seemed dissatisfied with the answer, though there was nothing she could do about that without lying to him, and she found no need to. There wasn't an answer she could think of to top it, considering her situation. Where had he intended her to stay when he had some flimsy fleabag over for the night? A top rate hotel?

"Yeh know…yeh don't '_ave_ to wander place to place…I mean, take it yeh've got me dad to avoid, an' well, Hans is the occasional douche…an' fridge is usually on the slim, but otherwise than that…" he muttered, crossing his arms before him, eyes lazily trailing on them, "World's nuts…an' it doesn't care, Weev…Just gotta be cautious, yeh know?" Her sleek grin grew, covering it with her shoulder, but by one glace at her eyes, he knew it was there, mocking him. Frowning, the teen ducked his head with a growl, glowering out at her, but she merely chuckled, throwing out an arm to ruffle his hair, "Showin' a bit of a soft side, aren't we, Murdoc?"

"Fuck _off_, Weev. Yeh never _could_ take the easy offer, even when the deal wos good." the boy grunted, resting his chin along the folded appendages. Throwing back a tender glance, Weslee shook her head with a small sigh, focusing back on her debris pile, "Same could be said for you…"

Furrowing his brows, Murdoc tilted his view towards her, but she seemed occupied already. It had been a bare murmur, but he had heard it all the same. Murdoc Niccals had always been one to grab the deal while it was still smoking to pocket the spoils for another day. In fact, that was the very reason why he had begun to save up some extra dough when he could. If he was to go anywhere in life, he would need a starting point, as all fame required. Unless you were born into it, celebrity held a very high price tag for the common man, and to most, it would seem highly improbable that a juvenile thug from Stoke could make so much as a dent in history, but of course, he never saw it that way. There was going to be plenty of road bumps along the way, and some pot holes were going to be bigger than others…but he needed this. There was nothing else.

Propping his head up, the shaggy haired Brit flicked a few threads along the carpet, pulling his chest out a bit more for comfort. "Been savin' up for a bass." he said with quiet pride, smiling down at the carpet when she glanced over her shoulder, genuinely interested, "Is that right?"

"I'll learn," he answered quickly, sensing the lecturing doubt filling those lime green eyes. She knew Murdoc to be many things, and many things she wasn't so sure if she would be proud of, but many things nonetheless. Dedicated…she could give him that. When he held onto an idea, or scheme, he stuck with it till the very end. Honorable? Well…give or take a few words of a deal, but otherwise…

However those were two words he often confused with the term obsession, one thing he just couldn't break from no matter how hard he tried. And though she was certain obsession was quite unhealthy and dangerous to a man's being, his eyes told her…_promised_ her this would be it. His ticket to freedom. To happiness. To anywhere but here. "Not like I 'ave much else to do." he shrugged, twirling onto his back as he pressed his shoulders to the carpet, feeling the itchy material scratch his skin raw.

"Yo' not gunna make me listen to yeh practice, are yeh?" she whined with a grin, a gentle shove to the shoulder answering her question. Poking her finger into the newly made pyramid, she sighed. This was his dream. As far as she could remember, Murdoc had always talked about the world…the one outside of the hell hole they lived in, where people were recognized for their talent, molded and made into something worthwhile for the entire human race to enjoy. He loved music more than anyone…He poured his soul into it…every inch of his being…

Many a night the two would talk in hushed voices among the rumpled clothing they slept in, twisted and tangled up in the thin sheets, trying their best to be comfortable within the cramped space. Often both were weary from the stresses of a day either would've happily avoided if able to, bored and cranky to tears while playfully pinching each other to make sure they were still alive or listening. It was during quiet nights like these, usually when Hannibal was out and about, giving the two friends fortunate privacy for none more than the occasional cuddle that Murdoc dared to reveal the most classified sentiments known to mankind: his hopes and dreams. And snickering, giggles, and snorts aside, she would timidly listen, honored that he felt she was worthy enough to listen about such sensitive facts about her best mate. Resting her head along his chest, she would yawn and tenderly rub an eye, beckoning him to describe in detail the ultimate dream, and within the weaving of tell tale future…both would drift off into a wonderland where all said things were true, gripped protectively in each other's grasp.

She wouldn't put it past him. With determination, and most of all, time, he would pull it off. He had to. He was Murdoc Niccals. And perhaps one day, he'd be proud of that. That's all she could hope for.

And for herself?

Her head hung between her shoulders a bit. It was a thought that often ground into her dreams, twisting up among the better thoughts to haunt her underneath her sly grin. Well…what was there for a girl like her? There were too few options and none of them were appealing in the least. She refused to downgrade, far too proud for that, and she wasn't about to do any sexual favors. If there was anything she would keep in control of, it was herself. Though, she was quite sure there would be a day when Murdoc would leave Stoke. She could feel it in her bones. One day, he would up and leave…and there would be nothing more she could do than miss him. The future could be such a beautiful thing, filled with hopes and dreams…but all she could plead for was his success. He had it in him, that spark of life. He would be the one to make the difference. And she…

Her head shook roughly as it swung on her neck, crossing her arms in front of her before glancing back, "…Jerry over by Grange Park…yeah, 'e plays quite a bit…'ad 'is whole room cramped up wit acoustics, electrics an' the like. I'm sho' 'e 'as one or two 'e wouldn't mind sellin' at a decent price. An' 'e takes care of 'em awright." she nodded, with a cheerful shrug. Getting an instrument was going to cost him. Getting one in good condition, even more. She could at least get him on a straight path, and take him out of the dream realm into reality. Touching the dream would get him a quarter of the way there. The wood aside from her cracked underneath the carpet as the weight on her back shifted off a tad, releasing the pressure building on her spine. Glancing back, she paused her little game to watch him sit up, hands pressed behind him while his neck sunk in, though his eyes were able to peer out from under the mane. And from within, under all that mop of hair, a sense of broken secrets reflected in his mismatched eyes, rather chill and confused.

"…Jerry?"

His voice cracked in tune inside the mumble, uncomfortable with the way it sounded and tasted on his tongue. And the growing grin along her pale face only made the vulnerability that much worse. The empty space within his stomach began to twist before his brows shoved down into a glare, crossing his arms with a snarl. She wasn't going to win this one. Even though the battle by now was lost, and had been lost for quite a while. "Oops." she smirked, chewing on her bottom lip before facing back to her garbage pyramid, tucking her head under to avoid his vicious gaze. Glaring down at metallic steel of his boots, Murdoc twisted them back and forth while his reflection grew and shrank in odd deformations, "_Oops_? So when wos I gunna 'ave the pleasure of meetin' the 'oops'? Playin' me a bit dirty wit the secrets, aren't yeh, Weevil?"

Her grin only grew further, flicking the next ball further than the last. It was strange and rather humorous how easily defensive he could be when concerning her interests, and never once had she ever complained about any of the strays he enjoyed clinging onto from time to time. She could even recall a time when she had forgotten something in his room and trotted off to retrieve it, unintentionally catching him in the act of a rather nasty threat to one of his mates from the window. Apparently it was a crime to think fondly of her in any way, shape, or form. Or at least, Murdoc made it be so. It was always soothing to think one could care enough to threaten others for her well being, although sometimes she wondered if he cared more than he cared to let on. And it was then that he would grow an outer shell, blocking out the world…even her. The Niccals boy was a difficult nut to crack, and slowly, but surely, she would get there. Tending to her flower.

"Calm down, Muds," she smirked, rolling over on her back before tucking her arms behind her head. She had to contain herself. The fury on his face was priceless. Giving her eye a quick rub, she made herself comfortable under the bridge of his legs, "'e's just a son of this old woman 'ew'd give me a place to crash for the night on occasions. I'd get the room, 'e'd get the couch, an' she wouldn't 'ave it any other way. Nuthin' more, nuthin' less. You can release the steam now." she chuckled as he took her advice, still a bit ticked, though. Arching his knees a bit more, the Brit swung his arm around them, letting it hang lazily while gazing off at the stained glass, thoughts overriding his speech. She loved to catch him in a stumble. He wondered if she was the one who even set the trap rope sometimes.

Blowing a stray strand from her face, the pale woman's grin faltered a bit, relaxing into a simple rest. Her toes wiggled and cracked, snapping him out of his thoughts as his eyes trailed from the multicolor of glass to the multicolor of her toes, her voice rather soft and void of tease, "It's not like I make a 'uge deal when yeh 'ave someone over. I just give yeh yo' space…I ought teh 'ave freedom, _too_. I don't mind it when you 'ave yo's." She listened to his breathing, calm and slow while he curved his other arm around and rested his chin into the basket. The last exhale released from his nose, thrusting his shoulders into a slump, "Wull, maybe yeh _should_…"

Lifting herself to her elbows, the seventeen year old tilted her head, damp hair trickling to the side. He was avoiding eye contact, shoving his neck deeper into his grip, but she didn't mind. Blinking softly, Weslee lifted her chin a bit, eyes wide with curiosity, "…Why?" The room became very silent after that, hardly anything creaked, nor popped, not even cracked outside. Only when he decided to run a hand through his hair did the sound of peeling skin slither through their ears, red marks all along his lower arms from the wet pressure. And from between the habitual strokes his fingers seemed adapted to, she couldn't help but wonder if his ears had truly reddened or if it was simply a trick of the light. His throat cleared for a moment, stretching out his arm before finally taking a look at her, "So…'ow much yeh think 'e'd ask for?" Her eyes blinked for a second of disbelief. He had changed the subject. What a curious boy he was. Never was one to beat around the bush, but…

"Uhm…not sho'…I suppose yeh'll 'ave teh ask 'im. Yeh know. When I introduce yeh." she smiled quietly, poking her tongue out at him as he rolled his eyes. "I swear, Weev," he started, dusting himself off, "If that bloke tries teh swindle me, 'e's dead. Done deal, got me?" Shrugging, the girl chuckled, stretching forward to smooth out her back. "It's yo' business. I'm just the middle man." Pulling herself out from under his cover, she crawled towards the radiator again, resting flat on her back, propping her legs up against it. "Oy!" the teen grunted, clamoring towards her, "Watch it! Me jacket's up there!" She rolled her eyes as he copied her pose, resting his feet flat against the wall before tucking his arms under his head. "So wot? When yo' filthy rich yeh'll have all the money in the world to buy fifty of 'em in all different colors." the girl brought up, cracking out her toes again. When he was filthy rich. They often talked about it (when they talked about it, that is) as if it were a slow dream in progress. As if the one in a million…or billion in his case, chance that it could happen. That he would be able to pull it off. That one day he'd be able to kick this place in the teeth and ship out, off to wherever his heart fancied. It was a fantastic thought of motivation, it was. His lips curled pleasantly, thinking of all he would spoil himself with if he ever obtained such a treasure. Music was a great deal, offering the world a shared piece of his mind…he thought himself quite generous to want to do so _so_ badly…but the pocket change that came along with the gig…well, that wasn't so bad either. A decent car…an epic home…a collection of randomocities…he was always fond of what he was told he couldn't have. Just imagine rooms among rooms of hidden treasures…artifacts that belonged in museums…but were his. Bits of history, all under his name.

He could feel himself glowing with pride. One day…one day he'd be up there among the greats. Among the stars. Among the...

"A band requires a name, Muds."

His brows slowly furrowed as he tilted his head towards her, hair brushing into his view. The gathering pride began to deflate in his chest, leaving a sense of uncomfortable dilemma in its wake. Pushing the feeling down, he reached across and pinched her nose between his knuckles, receiving a grunted squeal in return. Her hand smacked around until she grabbed at his face, pinching his cheeks tightly within her grip. For a moment they remained that way, frozen in their odd bond until Murdoc spoke, a bit lispy, "Yeh know I've got yo' back, right, Weev?"

Her eyes tilted best they could, voice rather clogged, "Right…? But I 'ardly think that's an appropriate title. Much too long for anyone's likin'." she agreed, some curiosity in her answer.

"…I'll always look out for yeh." Slowly releasing the pinch, his fingers trailed down her cheek before offering a gentle pat twice before using the hand to pluck his face free. And for a moment they had a staring contest; the debate over debt in question. She slowly rolled over, crawling over Murdoc before thudding her chest against his, fingers picking at the carpet once again. He merely responded with a grunt, proud he had won this round. "_Fine_…if you insist. Still an awful mouthful." she smirked, prodding some of his exposed skin, "But I ain't 'oldin' yeh to it. We both know 'ow absent minded yeh can get wit a few beers."

"Enough to forget the voice in my ear screamin' at me teh chug, chug, chug?" he grinned, arching a brow. Crossing her arms before her, she tilted her face towards him, hiding the shadow of laughter looming along her face. "Nobody's perfect…" she muttered with a shrug before sitting up against the radiator again, "But promise me this. Yeh'll get a bloody 'aircut before it gets as long as mine, yeah?" Playfully furrowing his brows, Murdoc ruffled his own locks, clearing his vision before snapping back. "Does it offend you?"

A grin cracked through as he pulled up, dusting off his back which had taken print of the carpet's material pattern, resembling that of a rash infested wasteland covered in needle pricks. Tossing his semi dried shirt at his face, the young woman rolled her eyes while he looked at it in disbelief. "Well, I do believe I _am_ the girl in this relationship." she snickered before his face disappeared into the grey material. His arm hooked into the neck hole instead, forcing him to tug it off with annoyance to start again, pausing for a moment to glance up at her, odd eyes peering at her cautiously, "…Relationship?"

Her eyes dropped to her toes, wiggling them in salute before picking at her pants, the hope for them to dry long gone over time. They were as dry as they were going to get, though the shivers, she could proudly say, were gone. Not that the news brought any comfort. The rain was still pounding outside, though it didn't seem to sound as bad as earlier. "_Friendship_…" she corrected in high spirits, giving his head a gentle ruffle as it popped through the correct hole. He ignored the motive to continue the job, simply leaving the material hanging along his neck, throwing an arm across her shoulders before sinking down a bit to close his eyes. "Yeah…That's wot a I thought yeh said." he sighed quietly, tucking her close, and with minimal resistance, she was comfortable in his grip.

"Love livin' life on a double edged sword, eh, Murdoc?"

Her finger flicked two of his along her shoulder with a smile, glancing at him, but the teen kept his eyes closed, rubbing her shoulder with his thumb, "Keeps me from gettin' bored." Ignoring her antics were the hardest. They were dismissible, and he never did hold them against her (for the most part), but teasing with a full bag of ammo was not at all fair or sportsmanlike. Poking her arm, he yawned a bit, curling in a leg, "So, a t-"

**Thoom**!

Murdoc paused his statement, eyes trailing over ahead at the new figure entering on their secret space and breaking their calm air. The man, middle aged about, give or take a few years, with a russet rain trench and umbrella to match stumbled in, shaking himself out as the heavy wooden door slowly closed behind him. The clear droplets dribbled down his balding head, completely unaware that behind him were two other lives in the very same room. Doing his best to dry himself off, the man shook out the umbrella onto his end of the carpet, dampening it into a deep scarlet blotch, quite unattractive with the crunched leaf remains scraping off his shiny shoes. He tilted his umbrella under his arm while he pulled off his thick rimmed glasses, rubbing them with his sleeve before huffing on them to then reinstate his vision to clearer pastures. Head lifting as his focus adjusted, the man of five foot six or so jumped, shoulders lurching as his cheeks flamed quicker than the rain hitting the pavement outside, "O-Oh, so sorry. D-Didn't realize." he fumbled as he gave them a slight disturbed glance, giving his umbrella one last shake before heading out into the storm once again, and the teens assumed sooner than he had anticipated.

"Wot's 'is problem?" the shaggy haired Brit mumbled, resting back against the radiator. Weslee blinked for a moment while her eyes bounced from the man's previous position to theirs, then to their shoes, jackets, and finally, Murdoc himself. A finger rose to her cheek playfully, pouting in thought. "_I_ think…it wos you." she stated quietly, quickly smiling when the boy gave her a rather unimpressed gaze. Running her fingers through her hair, the seventeen year old gave a small shrug, smirking the whole while, "Well, we are 'alf starkers…well, _you_ are anyway." Murdoc stared out at the spot in front of him on the other side of the room, then down at himself. "Probably thought we wos actin' up, or somethin'." she finished with a chuckle, rolling her eyes slyly at the boy's arched brow, voice low and tender.

"'ew's to say we ain't?"

"Well, not in a church, man. I mean, _I_ wouldn't. Tha's just a bit...iiehh...you know? Wull, maybe you wouldn't." she stood lazily with a teasing grin, loosening out the sleepy blanket of warmth beginning to wear her down to lean on the wall. Angling his neck to his left, the Niccals boy pulled up his knees, steadying a good grip on the floor beneath him to lift himself up as well. "I'd say I've been rather decent," he muttered, pulling out a few cracks from his spine on his way to full height. He rubbed his shoulder softly, gazing at the damp mess their previous guest had left. The warmth and shelter would've done him some good, no doubt. His loss. The double doors ripped open for the third time that night, startling the two before either could respond. Running a hand through his shaggy mane, Murdoc winced as a young man rushed inside with a watery sniff, tugging the hefty door behind him shut. It popped deeply in the suction, the second set of doors hiccupping a small gap. He hurried through, ignoring the hood blinding his view for the most part, thick and swelled, weighing down, though his movement was fluid as the rain dripping down his legs into his filthy sneakers. His teeth visibly chattered, his khaki shorts clinging to his thin legs like soggy paper, though he refused to stay in one position for long. He twirled in circles a few times before disappearing into the heart of the church, ignoring the two lives who had witnessed his little performance...unaware of their presence entirely.

Their eyes drifted to a meet, either unsure what to make of the show before snorting into laughter, leaning on each other for support. "Awright, then." Weslee wheezed, glancing around for her sneakers, "Looks like the nutters are marchin' in. I think our time is spent. Don't think this rain is gunna let up, though."

"Think so?" the teen yawned, dusting off his jacket as he felt for damage. Warm moisture, but it would be fine. With their luck, it was about to be soaked again anyway. Crouching down, Weslee shook out her socks, pulling on each with some difficulty, "Yeah. So, where yeh 'eaded after this?" Arching a brow, the boy adjusted his jacket, tucking his thumbs into his jeans as he watched her in vain curiosity, "...'ome. You?" Her finger pulled at the back of her sneaker, trying to shove it in rather than untie and retie it up, tongue poking out in defeat, realizing her way wasn't going to work, especially with the soggy material. Taking a knee, she took apart the knot, sewing up her foot, "Think I'ma 'ead through the park, see if I can nab yeh that deal. I'll mention yo' me best mate; maybe 'aggle a bit. See wot I can do."

"...It's a bit late teh be doin' all that, don't yeh think?" Her minty eyes snapped up to his odd match, offering a small shrug as she continued on with her shoe tying. "Men are always awake when the sun sets." she smirked, though her friend was reluctant to share in the joke. Nodding towards the doors they had come in through, Murdoc dug his heel into the carpet, "Save that for the mornin', Weev. The chances of some stupid sod tryin' teh jump yeh'll slim down durin' the day wit me. Besides," he sighed, helping her up before she dusted knees off, "it's cold an' rainy, an' yeh'd 'ave teh cross back through the park after the deal in all this mess."

"Wull, I wos plannin' to catch you in the afternoon..."

She tugged on her jacket quietly, watching the boy's face morph into something awful, similar to peevishness and cozy with envy. "An' why would yeh need teh catch me _then_ when yo' bunkin' at my place?" Rolling her sleeves up, Weslee readjusted the bandanas around her arms, avoiding eye contact for lack of luster to argue, "Christ, Muds...it's just one night. It _is_ for _you_, yeh know. Yeh think I take forty minute on foot walks to 'aggle for just anybody? You can do a night witout a 'uman pillow." she muttered, shoving each sleeve as high as it could go. Murdoc stood with his arms crossed, eyes gazing off into the blurry reflections his boots gave off, digging the toe in. "'e play for yeh?" he mumbled, hands tucked under his pits. The dirty bland toe of her sneaker bumped into his, copying his motions as she tucked her hands into her pockets, "Only when I ask 'im to. A bit shy, really. Lovely bloke. Knows 'is manners." she tossed in with a small smile, blowing a bit of hair clinging to her cheek. A bit of silence passed them by, Murdoc's stomach grumbling on and off under the rumbles outside.

"...Do it in the mornin', Weev." his voice drained and tired, a small pleading whine. There was nothing that could prevent her from doing just as she pleased, and she tended to kill chores as soon as received for fear she would forget them later on and disappoint, but perhaps...perhaps if he interceded...lowered that guard...He glanced up from the ground, eyes firm, but soft...a rarity if anything. "It won't take long." she tried, nudging his shoulder smoothly, his eyes unwavering.

"Yeh'll get a bloody pnumonia an' then wot? Is Jerry gunna wait on yeh 'and an' foot?"

"Oh, I knew this wos about you."

"Bull shit. I'm lookin' out for yeh, 'ere."

"I told yeh to watch yo' mouth, Niccals."

"Would you be serious, Weslee? I'm tryin' teh make a _point_."

Her brows slowly furrowed, nose a bit scrunched, "So am I. I told yeh to watch it. An' it ain't midnight, mum. I've been out in worse, an' you know it. I know shortcuts an' I 'ave friends on the way. You ain't the only one, Murdoc."

"Yeh think I don't know that?" he scoffed with a growl, "Bloody shovin' it in my face all the damn time! I don't see _them_ tryin' to keep yeh safe or offerin' everythin' they 'ave! I'd skin me own flesh an' blood for you, Weevil. When are you gunna get that? I'm yo' best mate, love. Yo' all I got to lose." the Niccals boy fumed, scraping his heel against the carpet as he catapulted his shoulder off the wall and headed towards the main doors, hands tucked firmly into his pockets. His indefinite scowl cooled over at the sound of her voice, head slowly tucking between his shoulders when he realized his mistake, the knot in his throat difficult to swallow.

"...Wot did you call me?"

The air grew a bit thin and chilly as his foot nodded against the wood of the front door, scraping a few shreds off, but that hardly bought him enough time. He had slipped, and now he was sliding, far too off balance to straighten up before the coach could miss it. The foul whistle had been blown, and anything could only go downhill from there. Shoving his hands deeper into his pockets, the Brit slowly closed his eyes with the deepest urge to knock his head against the hefty doors and simply cuss himself out, but chose to bite down on his bottom lip, mentally thrashing about instead. Language would only irritate her further.

"...Said you wos me mate...tha's all."

"Really?"

Her voice was flat and hard edged, digging into his back and twisting about with a vile grip. He had promised himself it would never get to this, but the damage had already been done, and one could only imagine how the girl was going to take it. In all the years they had known each other, trusted each other, had each other's backs...

Such a word had never been said.

Well, actually once, way back when. When he had been shorter than her. A busted lip had quickly ended that nasty habit and never again had it been mentioned. Merely understood. Until now.

Her knuckles nicked the back of his shoulder blade, a rough grunt snapping out with it before shoving him forward, his nose nearly brushing the wood. Sighing darkly, the teen scratched along his head, hand reaching for the knob, "Look...didn't mean it like tha', awright?"

"Best not for yo' own safety. Never clump me in wit tha' lot _you_ favor. I'm better 'an tha'." the girl growled, glaring firmly through the immediate shield he had put up. Glancing over his shoulder, the Niccals boy muttered something muffled into his cuff before turning fully to rest against the door. "S'not like tha', Weev. You know tha' better 'an anyone.

His hand slowly lifted, flicking her across her nose as he rolled his eyes, watching her anger calm a notch down to irritation; "It wos a slip o' the tongue." he mumbled with a small smirk as her arms crossed hopelessly.

"Well, y'know wot Freud said about tha'."

Brows narrowing, the teen grunted with a hearty groan, tossing his arms up in humorous exaggeration, "'ew the bloody 'ell is _Freud_ now?" Shaking her head lightly, Weslee thumped her finger against his skull, the tiniest of smiles shining through, "Maybe if yeh paid attention in class, y'would know."

Giving her a slight nudge, he propped open the door to peek out, determining if the weather was worth the trek. The rain had somewhat halted to a drizzle, if not a little more than that, sky rather dark from the hour aside from the atmospheric conditions. His brows narrowed for a moment as a sharp pop cracked through the air...too close for comfort. Thunder tended to rumble beforehand. Curious. It was best they stay out of harm's way as quickly as possible if lightening was striking down. With another helpful pop of his knee, the door craned its way open enough to squeeze through, holding it open with his hand held outside, eyes on the sky, "Maybe if yeh paid attention to me..." he started, leaving it off at that before drying the drops off on his jeans. Nodding out towards the steps, the young man led his friend into the calmer weather, though the frosty nip was still at hand, forcing them to bundle in their semi dried clothing once more. It wasn't much, but it would have to do. It was only a few blocks to the Niccals residence.

"As if I don't awready." she muttered quietly with a smile, nudging him as he took a trot down the first step, glancing back cautiously. A child beckoning approval. She tucked her chin out for his advancement. "You 'ead over through the park, I'm goin' wit yeh." he noted as the speckles of drops rushed at him lightly. "That won't be intimidatin' in the _least_." the young woman smirked, though he took another step down, nodding for her to follow, "I told yeh...I've got yo' back."

Rolling her eyes, she sighed into her hands for warmth, looping one of them into the crook of his arm as he scurried on, from cold or determination of their next location. His mind was made up. Either he was coming along, or she was following him. "Are we _really_ on this again?"

He gazed at her quietly, a small water logged sniff the only answer he was willing to give.

Glancing at him wearily, Weslee shrugged, hands shoved into her pockets, weather running her ragged, "T'yo' place _then_. But bright an' early awright? We'll make it look professional, like. Make sho' you offer an amount y'awready got. Payments can always be arranged." Tugging on her arm, the shaggy haired Brit smirked lightly with a nod. He was a man of his word...and he had won this round. A burst of wind smacked into them, bringing with it a harder set of rain much to their displeasure. "Imagine you trippin' blind in this shit?" he muttered mockingly, arching a brow when she chuckled, voice over the rain. "Ought'a draft me for all the kinds o' shit I've tripped throu-"

Her shoulders pinned to her ears with the slam that echoed behind them, eying Murdoc before they both turned for a peek. Shuffling down the slippery stone steps of the church was the younger man from earlier, doing his best to catch his balance as he clutched a metallic box to his chest, obviously in as big a rush as the moment he entered. Like a bull to red, he barreled directly at the duo, slamming them apart to the streets. Tripping to his right, the shaggy haired Brit nearly shoved his foot through a sewer grate, though more concerned over the brick wall Weslee had acquainted herself with. "The _fuck's_ yo' problem, mate?" the teen bellowed, doing his best to wipe his face clear of the pittering rain sloshing down from his locks. Rubbing her shoulder, the young woman grunted over the soreness, neck stretching to eye the bloke running for his life. "Oy, y'awright, Weev?" the Brit uttered, boosting her back to her feet. "Yeah, yeah...nothin' I ain't been through." she smirked lightly, brushing him off. Battered, but fine.

"Stop him! STOP HIM!"

Eyes snapping back to the stoop, the teen furrowed his brows, sizing up the older gentleman rushing out into the storm, purest robes skimming along the grime of the world, tainted with the color of pulsing life. The fluids soaked through with the heavier rains, dripping and streaking across the steps as the man of God reached out in his run, the anger in his eyes beyond the mercy he so often preached, "The pits of HELL have you! Father McIntyre shot in _cold blood_! STOP HIM! SLAUGHTERING FOR THE TITHES OF GOD!"

Tithes of God.

Tithes of...God...

His mismatched eyes blinked a moment of clarity, hearing...noise. The loud hush of the rains. The mad cries of a holy man. And his own yell as the sharp pops he had heard earlier echoed once more. The first one only startled him. Perhaps that was a warning shot. That would do. This thief need not fear the Niccals boy, it wasn't like he was actually going to track him down. Everyone needed a little money now and then, and it wasn't like Murdoc _hadn't_ stolen before...just not from a church. Considering they had their money locked up in a box, it seemed stupid, honestly. Besides, most churches gave things away to the poor, didn't they? He was sure they held drives or something of the sort. Weevil might've mentioned it once. The second pop...made his heart pump briskly. Where were these coming from? Far too dark. Far too blurry. He had to dodge. Had to brace himself, and Weevil! Where had she gone to? Still against the wall? No...no, back by the church stoop, using it as a barrier. A brilliant one, that girl. He stumbled, hands clutching at his neck for some reason. His hands would never properly shield his spine from a bullet, but it was well worth the try. It was amazing he still had control over his actions. He could barely breathe.

The third shot forced him to.

Slamming down to the concrete, the Niccals boy ignored the pain pulsing through his head from impact, but focused more on the one shifting about his left arm, about an inch above his elbow. At first it bothered some, the migraine worse than anything, and the rain nothing more but an aggravation. He tried to lift himself...had to get to Weslee. That's when it burned...and spread...and limited the weight he could press on it. Blood. He was bleeding. Well, wasn't that fantastic? And Weevil wanted to walk out in this shit.

Crawling to the backside of the stoop, he grunted, eying a shivering Weslee staring at her sneakers. Sprawled, jacket pulled close. She swallowed hard before turning her eyes to him, their bright light somewhat dim. "Shot." she huffed, jutting out her chin at the tear in his jacket before he sat himself up against the bricks, griping when the arm was free. No bullet within. Just grazed. He was lucky. But still bleeding. Wiping his nose against his good arm, the Brit sighed as he closed his eyes, feeling the chill of the rain wipe the damage from his arm, but steal the life from him as well. "Gimmie yo' arm." she mumbled, tugging off one of her bandanas from her sleeve. Grabbing his wrist, she tied the band tightly, cutting off any further drips until a proper aid could be administered. Rubbing her face weakly, the young woman took a deep breath, gagging at the action.

"'ey...it's awright. We're good." Murdoc nudged wearily, shuffling back when she gripped his shoulder tightly and vomited between them. Coughing out the bile, she wiped her cheek against her shoulder, forcing a watery sniff. "W-We should've stayed at McCarthy's." she uttered, staring down at the stain she had made. He shared the direction, identifying the oatcake from earlier...and something much darker. "...Weevil?" All sense of pain had dissipated. Propping her up, the Brit spread apart her tucked jacket, finding the pink tank blending back to its prime origin. "Fuck, fuck, FUCK, Weevil! I gotta get you to a 'ospital! The fuck you were dickin' around wit m'arm for?" the young man hissed, clambering up to his feet. Pressing his palm against the bricks, he took a deep breath, shaking off the spin of the world as best he could. Time was of the essence.

"Need yo' arm t'play the bass..." she answered quietly, thumb running along her lips with a shiver. Tugging her arms about his neck, he boosted her onto his back, clutching her thighs tightly as she curled onto him, head against his neck. His eyes darted in all directions, finding only darkness engulfing them. The closest hospital. Which way was that? Left or right? The school was a few blocks over...his home only minutes away...McCarthy's...calm down. He had to calm down. Shaking his head, he could only feel the icy rain blur his vision, cloud his thoughts. The weight on his back could only hold on for so long...could only last for who knew?

The towering castle of a monument felt so much grander in comparison now as he gazed up at it, the magnificent glass shards colored for story purposes...stone as cold as...death. He eyed the building so much greater than he, a contest of strength and match...his gaze held true, nor glare or furrow, but a simple eye, a whisper only heard among the winds, "Lottery ain't yo's to take." Her finger looped along his chain, and he broke into a run, shoving past the old man still shouting about. "He's ARMED!" the man cried, hardly thinking anyone would actually chase down the bastard, but Murdoc only shoved on, huffing at the top of his lungs, "I NEED A HOSPITAL. SHE'S BEEN SHOT." Any reply was simply out of range as the Brit slammed one heel after the other, grip on her thighs tightening for fear that he would drop or forever lose her.

Her left hand gripped along his chest, resting her eyes against the nook of his shoulder, taking slow and calmed breaths, a bit jagged any time a bolt a pain ran through, but rather steady for the offense taken. With each thump, she inhaled, with every skid, she coughed. "G-Gettin' yo' jacket dirty..." she sighed without lifting her head, feeling her body pull to the left as he jotted to the right. Whipping the air from his eyes, the teen only searched for street signs, doing his best to retrieve the memory that dared leave him in his time of need. "I'll 'ave fifty of 'em in all different colors..." he muttered as his mind traveled elsewhere, suddenly clicking that they were very close. Maybe...maybe only two blocks. He would have to run.

"'ang on." he called over his shoulder, leaning forward as he made a mad dash, keeping his balance above all else. He couldn't afford to trip or skid in this weather. Couldn't risk it. The rain was already trying him, freezing him back to the core, the winds hardly offering him a helping hand. His jaw clenched with every breeze, snorting hard to clear his breathing passage, and when he did, it burned like hell right to his brain, between the eyes and straight to the back of his head. "Ho...H-How yeh-doin'?" he gasped after a few yards, taking a moment (but only seconds worth) to choke down the burn in his throat. More than a thousand cigarettes and then some. And quite out of shape. But none of that...none of that mattered now.

"I'll...let yeh know when I stop...bleedin'." she breathed, giving his chest a weakened clutch to keep going. Stoops they had walked by every day to and from school. Garbage cans rolling in the winds. Rubbish thrown about the streets. From cans. Previous to them. Darkness. Dim, dying street lamps. They buzzed on but did nothing for him. Blinded him further with their halo glow. Everything looked different now. Fuck.

"Stomach, is it?" he called out nervously, taking a sharp left. "Near the belly hole..." she took a breath, "R-Right side."

"We're almost there. Keep it up, Weev. You'll get patched an' we can nab the fucker after." his voice tasted sour at the attempted joke. The warmth on his back had him on alert. How much blood was she losing? "M-Mur...doc..." she chattered suddenly, digging her face into the base of his neck, "Th-this rain's like ice, blud. C-Can't tell..."

"Oy! You keep yo' eyes open an' keep talkin', you 'ear me? We're almost there! Ain't loosin' yeh like this!"

He could feel the pushed laugh into his collar, watery sniff proving her breathing was fighting against the winds as well as the pain, "I trust yeh, yeh twit."

Like a beacon in the sea, the shabby looking building had its own glow about it, the lights haloing a yellowing cape, but it would have to do. They would know what to do. More than he would anyway. His chest hardened with every stomp, his throat locked up with the burn. He took a deep breath and continued on with the pent air, feeling the wind push against his footing, but he wouldn't fall. Not with her. She needed him. His eyes burned to the point of tears, mixing with the rain as it screamed in his ears, throwing a bin directly across his path but he merely darted around it, the building growing with every step. He would make it. He would. He had to.

"You shouldn't. I'm a crook." he hacked before he held his next breath, muscles dying at the sudden burst of exercise. His right thigh began to cramp as his left calf tightened, pushing...pushing. "I'm the one 'ew...swindled yeh when we...when we wos kids..." She found her numbing grip hard to keep track of, only hoping they were clutching him close. The world had begun to spin...upside down...sounds mixing...but he was clear. She could hear him...feel...smell...hold. She trusted him. With all her being. All her existence. He had taken care of her when no one else did...and at the age of nine when he could barely manage himself. The deal that had sealed their fates. He was trapped in a world just as she was. A world where no one could understand...no one could possibly understand...but the other. He would get out of this God forsaken world...she knew it. Never once had she doubted him. Not even now. And not ever.

"W-Wot the...fuck are...yeh talkin' about?" he heaved his foot finding the steps of the establishment quite rewarding to say the least. "Back then...yeh r-remember that night? I...I broke in?" she sniffed, feeling the lights wash over her. "Can't...forget it." he swallowed hard, ripping at the pull away door, "B-Been ch-checkin' under me bed f-for little kids ever since." She began to sag a bit against his back, doing her best to keep her head up. She chuckled weakly, patting his chest with the bit of energy she still owned.

"Candy...re-remember that d-deal? 'alf o' me stash..."

She pressed her forehead back into his neck, feeling the warmth of the hospital finally engulf her. He had made it.

"All you got wos 'alf o' me stash..." she heaved, clutching him tight, "...an' I got you."

His brows furrowed for a brief millisecond before nodding the back of his head against hers, "Yo' delusional. OY!" he bellowed, marching past any and all other sickly emergency visitors, "She's been shot! Bleedin' out! Let's GO!" It was moments before they had to pry the frozen woman from his back, both as bitter as the winds, and for the first time, he could witness the trauma that was escaping her body. Paler than the norm, but she waved a weary hand, capped in its own color as her eyes lost focus for a moment, alarmed in the second they moved her trolly. They would separate them. Only family was ever permitted beyond the boundaries. "Oy, wait, wait!" she coughed, reaching out toward him, "H-He's been shot, too!"

All eyes were on him now as a nurse eyed him questioningly, though had to admit he did look like hell thrice removed. Jerking a thumb at his bound arm, he was led down the same corridor, feeling wearier and wearier with every step until he nearly collapsed. His good arm had somehow wound up over the shoulder of a doctor, leading him to the room where they had carted Weslee. A tiny thing, but it would have to do. Apparently the emergencies were high that night...and with that maniac out, it hardly surprised the teen. Beeps sounded from all around, stats and static filled announcements. The thudding of heels against linoleum tiles. The squeaking of trolly carts carrying others much better off than his friend. Immediately they were both settled back, IV needle jabbed into their arms before they could utter a sound...but that required much too much effort by now. He could feel the softness of the fleece the nurse had bound him with, and the gentility of the doctor who unwrapped Weevil's haphazard aid. It burned and stung with every tug, his own vision diminishing to naught. His eyes closed for but a moment, turning his neck to the left and dared to open them once more.

Her minty green eyes peered at him softly...exhausted...painfully. They were cold and battered, but told him he had done well. Better than expected. Bright and early. They had a mission to do. They lit for a moment with the most exhausted of grins as she shakily raised a hand to her pillow, curling the thumb up slowly. He snorted lightly. Weakly. It would be okay. His smile held for a moment, watching her as she watched him, and suddenly his brows aligned, jaw growing more ridged. Her arm continued to shake into her pillow, eyes gazing out blankly, not focusing on him or anyone in the room. The grin once held for him still held, though her lips had capped over it, her jaw locked briskly. Her neck flexed in a jolt, shifting her head about without control, and he jolted from his rest, arm thrust out, "Seizure! S-She's 'avin' a seizure! She can't breathe! SHE CAN'T BREATHE!"

It took five men to hold him down.

Four shots to knock him out.

Three hours to wake him up.

Two pills to cope with pain.

And one answer to know she was dead.

* * *

Author's Note: Not exactly a cliffhanger, but not exactly done yet, are we? Class for me starts Monday, so I'm planning to power through the ending of this (finally) since I'm inspired lately, and you all deserve it. Some have been waiting 3 years. That's quite the dedication, and I truly am touched. I did keep those reviews saved just for motivation. Readers are the reason I write. And just a note for those of you who think this is just a hobby, there are tons of fanfic writers in the animation and film industry. They just become screen and script writers. Isn't that lovely?


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